


Finders, Keepers

by CynSyn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Aziraphale Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Aziraphale Likes Pears, Blow Jobs, Bondage, But only because they're drunk and scared the other doesn't want it, But only because they're stupid in love and don't talk about it, Cockwarming, Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Didn't Know They Were Dating, Dildos, Drinking to Cope, Dubcon Kissing, Eventual Smut, Everyone Thinks They're Together, Excessive Drinking, Fanart, First Time, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Foot Jobs, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hair Washing, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hotel Sex, Humor, Idiots in Love, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, Lower Tadfield (Good Omens), M/M, Making Out in the Bentley (Good Omens), Masturbation in Shower, Mirror Sex, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, NSFW Art, Nice Beelzebub (Good Omens), Nice Gabriel (Good Omens), Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paintball, Pining, Pining While Boning, Please Don't Copy to Other Sites, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Robbery, Sex, Sexual Humor, Shibari, Shower Sex, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Smut, Strong Aziraphale (Good Omens), Subspace, The Arrangement (Good Omens), Theft, Under The Table Over The Pants Foot Job, fucking while pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 132,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24586873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynSyn/pseuds/CynSyn
Summary: Anthony J. Crowley, the self-made force behind Ophidian Orchards, is a sleek, no-nonsense businessman to the outside world. His clients pay him well for his services at obtaining difficult to find items. People assume that because he has had to fight his whole life to get to where he is, he wants to take the lead. He is often taken advantage of for his generosity.Aziraphale is a business owner of a bit more nonsense than that. He treats his inventory as he does his own collection, and is reluctant to part with it for just anyone. People assume that because of his outward gentle nature, he is naive and needs someone to look after him. He is often taken for granted for his kindness.Crowley is fascinated by the brilliant and capable hidden bastard behind the bright smile with his best interests at heart.Aziraphale sees past the hard, sharp exterior to find someone soft and gentle who wants to be cared for.They're perfect for each other, and everyone knows it but them.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 610
Kudos: 484
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs, Top Aziraphale Recs





	1. A Meet Cute? In This Fic? It's more likely than you think.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not going to be anywhere _near_ the angst levels of Music and Manuscripts. There is going to be _some_ angst, because internal thoughts when you're in love but scared to tell the other how you feel are definitely a thing, and you can't really have a pining fic without a little of it. There's going to be some miscommunication here and there because they're just not talking about feelings.  
> There will be zero WHUMP.  
> Completely Whump-Free ficerry.
> 
> Fair warning: Comments and Kudos will only encourage me to update more often. ;)

Aziraphale looked around, comparing the items placed up for auction with the ones on his list. It was a regular occurrence of his, attending these auctions with Gabriel. They had been friends since sharing a dormitory arrangement back in university. They were both booksellers, though Aziraphale had a physical shop focused on a different range of genres than Gabriel’s eCommerce site for digital content rentals and sales, mostly with a few _material objects_ , as Gabriel liked to put it. They did, however, keep sections in one another’s respective storefronts as a way to bridge the gap between the customer bases. It had worked for them well. Gabriel handled Aziraphale’s online orders, packing, shipping, and invoicing, and Aziraphale took care of local pick-up orders, along with storing Gabriel’s physical inventory in his back room.

Aziraphale rushed back and forth between lots, verifying numbers against both the catalogue and his own list. He had made a mistake with a lot number in recent past that he’d rather not repeat.

“Aziraphale, there you are!” Gabriel said as he crept up behind him.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale nodded without looking up while reading and comparing numbers.

Gabriel leaned in to whisper. “We have reliable information that _things_ are _afoot_.”

Aziraphale looked puzzled, but continued to write numbers down above other numbers. “They are?”

“Yes. I overheard some people talking, and—”

“That’s not exactly _reliable_ information,” Aziraphale said, marking something down on his paper.

Gabriel tilted his head to the side, exhaling loudly through his nose. “Anyway, I haven’t seen him _myself_ , yet, as far as I know, but I’ve heard the guy from Ophidian Orchards is here,” Gabriel said.

“And?” Aziraphale asked, not looking up from the list in his hand.

“And he _always_ gets what he came for. You had better hope that if he wants something on your list, that you manage to get there first. Consider yourself on apple tree duty.”

Aziraphale finally looked up with a condescending expression. “That _isn’t_ what that means.”

Gabriel smirked back at him. “ _You’ll_ see, if he’s after something _you_ are. There’s a reason they call him the Serpent of Eden.”

“Well, _that’s_ ophidian, at least,” Aziraphale shrugged.

Gabriel rolled his eyes with a groan. “Why are you so pedantic?”

“Why are you so terribly _wrong_?” Aziraphale asked, batting his eyes sweetly.

Gabriel shook his head, puffing his cheeks out in a huff. “Anyway, you need to keep him under observation, without, of course, letting him know that’s what you’re doing.”

“I _do_ know,” Aziraphale’s brow furrowed with irritation. “I’ve been coming to these auctions for years.”

“So has he,” Gabriel replied. “It’s a miracle we haven’t run into him yet.”

Aziraphale smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Gabriel said, clapping his hands together. “Bea asked me to tell you to bring a nice white wine when you come over this weekend. None of that red you’ve been passing off on us lately.”

“It’s a _perfectly_ good vintage that I happened to have most of a case of,” Aziraphale scoffed unconvincingly.

“Because you don’t like it,” Gabriel grinned.

Aziraphale grinned back. “Possibly.”

“It’s not our fault you bid on the wrong lot,” Gabriel smirked. “Bring a white. We’re having fish.”

“How about I bring both?” Aziraphale asked hopefully. “Surely one of you might cook with it later.”

Gabriel furrowed his brow questioningly. “Why don’t _you_ cook something with it, since you have plent _y_?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes with a sigh and a wave of his hand. “Cooking for one just never seems to appeal to me, outside of a few simple things,” Aziraphale said, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t care for wasting food, and I _detest_ washing so many dishes just for myself. It makes more sense for the two of you to have it, particularly as often as you entertain.”

Gabriel arched his eyebrow. “ _You_ need a man.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” Aziraphale whispered under his breath, brushing his fingertips along the books on the table in front of him.

“What was that?” Gabriel asked with a laugh.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale pressed his lips together, lifting his eyebrows slightly as he shook his head. “I didn’t say anything.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes with a smirk. “All right,” he said, looking over the two lists before handing one over to Aziraphale. “Let’s split up. We’ll cover more ground that way, and if we each have half of the list, we’re less likely to overlap.”

“Good idea,” Aziraphale agreed. “No sense in one of us outbidding the other on the same thing.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Wait. You said you didn't _think_ you had run into him yet. What does this Serpent of Eden look like, anyway?”

Gabriel looked at Aziraphale blankly. “I, uh, I don’t really know.”

“You don’t know?” Aziraphale asked incredulously. “How exactly am I supposed to _be on the lookout_ for someone if I don’t know _what_ to look _for_?”

“They said he has a tattoo, but they didn’t say what or where.”

“ _I_ have a tattoo,” Aziraphale scoffed. “That doesn’t tell me very much.” He shook his head. “What is his name?”

Gabriel made a face, sucking air through his teeth. “I don’t… Something about a rooster, maybe? Something ornithoid, for certain.”

“Oh, good lord,” Aziraphale said. “You’re doing this on _purpose_ , aren’t you?”

Gabriel looked confused. “I don’t follow.”

“Ornithoids aren’t ophidian, _either_ , Gabriel.” Aziraphale said.

“Chickens are dinosaurs,” Gabriel said matter-of-factly.

Aziraphale snorted loudly enough to attract attention. “That’s not—” He stopped himself before he focused too closely on the wrong problem. “What does this have to do with anything? And for the record, the word you’re looking for is Ornithodiran.”

“It’s the same thing!” Gabriel argued.

“It’s _not_ ,” Aziraphale said with friendly irritation.

“Sure it is. Roosters are chickens. Chickens are raptors. Raptors are dinosaurs. Dinosaurs are reptiles. _Snakes_ are reptiles.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in horrified fascination at the bounding and fantastical _leap_ that conclusion took. “I have to _go_ now,” he said with exasperation, waving his list.

“Remember what I said,” Gabriel reminded him as he made to head to the other side of the auction house. “Apple tree duty,” he mouthed before turning around.

Aziraphale looked up with a sigh. “Lord, give me strength.”

Crowley looked down at his client’s list, comparing it to the items available in this auction. Finding only two matches, he narrowed his eyes, surveying the room to see who was milling about, and what items might be attracting the most visitation. If he were able to obtain something more than what he came for, particularly something with plenty of interest, it might save him a search in the near future. It was likely that one of his clients in particular would take anything he brought to him, knowing he could still make a profit based on reputation alone.

A pale blur flashed in his peripheral view. Adjusting his dark glasses, Crowley slowly turned, acting as if he were looking at something on the table while trying to visually track down whatever grabbed his attention.

“Hmm,” Crowley hummed with a shrug when he found nothing in his line of sight. “Must be seeing things.”

Crowley sauntered over to one of the items to give it a good visual once-over. Once again, a flash of something light in color crossed his visual field. This time, he turned, looking around hoping to find that which had eluded him so far. Once again finding nothing but an otherwise standard auction crowd, he wrote down a note on his list and went about his business.

“Oi, it’s a fucking _Will-o-the-Wisp!_ ” Crowley hissed as the now irritatingly familiar flash caught the corner of his eye again. This time, Crowley spun around, stealth be damned. “Aha,” Crowley said to himself triumphantly. “You _do_ exist. And how is it you—”

The words fell from his mind unsaid when the platinum-blonde source of all of his frustration that afternoon turned partly around, smiling a disarmingly charming smile at one of the other displays.

“You aren’t a wisp,” Crowley said quietly. “You’re an _angel_.” He was enthralled by what he saw before him. He barely noticed the smile that had crept its way across his own face, just standing there, staring as he was, until someone bumped into him.

“Oh, excuse me,” the offending stranger said.

Crowley lifted his hand up, shaking his head with a shrug. “No worries. ‘Sfine,” he assured. Crowley turned back around to discover the most interesting thing at the auction had, once more, disappeared from his view.

 _Shit_.

The scowl on his face as he casually turned his head belied the way his eyes darted wildly behind his sunglasses. Crowley was determined to find the vision in cream and tartan once more. He had a reputation for finding things, and had every intention of living up to it even now. It was a matter of professional pride, after all.

The smile he lost earlier tugged at Crowley’s lip when he caught up to the angel just after winning one of the books on his client’s list. Well, it wasn’t _specifically_ on the list, but it fit all the criteria. It was a first edition by a popular author.

Normally, finding those rare gems, and the mayhem that ensued in obtaining them, were the highlights of these auctions for him. Crowley truly enjoyed a little controlled chaos. But today, he was finding a different sort of search much more enjoyable. Now that he had everything he came for, he was free to pursue his own interests.

Stealthily, Crowley followed the object of his fascination throughout the rest of the auctions, always orbiting just out of sight. Crowley marveled at how many different smiles he had seen cross the angel’s face. It was incredible how kind the man had appeared, so genuine and happy… Until some people turned around and those angel-eyes rolled. Oh, it was adorable how _complex_ this stranger was. What first began as an appreciation of a form had progressed into a full-blown _interest_ after that.

Crowley frowned slightly upon seeing the man in a grey suit who had bumped into him earlier speaking with the angel so casually.

“Hmm,” Crowley hummed to himself. “I wonder what I would have to do to get you to smile at _me_ like that.”

Crowley laughed at the look on the angel’s face, combined with what appeared to be a silent plea for strength from a higher power, as the two parted ways. “What are you to one another?” Crowley wondered out loud. He had hoped they were colleagues or friends. Maybe family, depending on the sort. Brothers, cousins, those were fine. Relation by marriage, that could be okay, too, depending on _whose_ marriage it was.

Crowley may have made a name for himself by finding, and getting, practically anything he sought out, but there were reasons for that. While he might snipe an auction if he saw enough interest, once someone else actually _had_ it, depending on what it was, he generally moved on to search elsewhere. He had his own code of ethics, and it comforted him, given his reputation.

He _really_ hoped they were just friends.

Aziraphale frowned as he watched the winning bidder excitedly walking hand-in-hand with a woman Aziraphale had met briefly earlier in the afternoon. He was, of course, happy for the gentleman that won the auction, more so now that he had the impression that the man was a collector as well, but he still would have liked to have had the books on his list that were going home with the two of them.

“Well, _that_ went down like a lead balloon.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Aziraphale asked of the man who had stepped over beside him.

“I said, _well, that went down like a lead balloon_ ,” the man repeated, pointing towards the direction of the auction item Aziraphale had just lost.

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale quickly agreed, marking an X across the item on his list. “ Yes, it did, rather.”

“Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me,” the man in the dark glasses said.

Aziraphale shot him a look of sarcastic disdain.

"Well," the man with red hair shrugged with a nod and a pout. “First edition, and everything,” he reluctantly agreed. “Still, I can’t see how this is so valuable,” the man said, looking down at the catalogue in his hands.

“It must _be_ valuable,” Aziraphale said. He looked at the man expectantly. It would be nice to have a name for the agent of chaos who created a such a frenzy for the second copy of a first edition of Hemmingway’s Garden of Eden.

“Crowley,” the redhead offered with a subtle lift of his brow.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale nodded in thanks. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have bid so much on the previous copy.”

“The client just said, ‘ _Get up there and make me some money.”_

“Obviously,” Aziraphale said. “When you’re dealing with resellers, that’s what you do.”

“And I suppose you’re not?” Crowley laughed quietly.

“Not what?”

“Dealing with a reseller.”

“I _happen_ to be a collector,” Aziraphale replied.

“Ah, I see.” Crowley pouted slightly. “And that places you above the resellers, and the people like me, then, does it?”

Aziraphale looked around nervously. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said softly. “As a matter of fact, I also happen to run a shop.”

“Ah,” Crowley grinned broadly. “You mean you _are_ a reseller. You’re no better than me.”

“I beg your pardon,” Aziraphale said with a haughty gasp. “I’ll have you know, I’m _personally_ invested in everything I sell. Everything in my shop is a part of my collection. I don’t simply let things go to just _anyone_.”

Crowley was surprised to find how much he enjoyed watching the man before him fluster about.

“Are you suggesting you’re a bookseller that _does not sell books_?”

“Best not to speculate,” Aziraphale said with a flush of embarrassment.

Crowley glanced down at Aziraphale’s list, narrowing his eyes as he noticed one of the books he knew Aziraphale had won bidding on had been marked off in the same manner as the ones he lost.

“Didn’t you have a Fleming first edition?” Crowley asked, pointing at Aziraphale’s list.

“Er…” Aziraphale stammered.

“You did. There were a few Flemings here today.”

“Um…”

“Lost it already, have you? Did they take it down on you? I hate when that happens.”

Aziraphale looked around sheepishly. “I gave it away.”

“You what?” Crowley asked, eyes wide and jaw dropped incredulously.

“I gave it away!” Aziraphale exclaimed, pitifully. “She was a collector. She looked so _miserable_ , and had already won most of the other Fleming novels that were available. And I really didn’t _need_ it for a specific client, so I said, _here you go, Casino Royale, don’t thank me, and don’t let that get away from you_.”

Crowley was positively enchanted. Everyone he usually met at these auctions was so cut-throat and out for themselves. It was so refreshing, he thought, finding someone the polar opposite of that, yet still apparently enough of a bastard to roll his eyes behind a back or two. “Well, that was quite nice of you. It’s an excellent book. I rather like James Bond, myself.”

“I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing,” Aziraphale said, looking down at his list once more.

“Oh, you’re an _angel_ , I don’t think you _can_ do the wrong thing,” Crowley soothingly grinned.

“Oh, thank you. It’s been bothering me,” Aziraphale replied with relief. “People already tend to think of me as a pushover.”

“I’ve been worried, too,” Crowley said, looking down over the catalogue list of items up for auction. “I had hoped perhaps to find a lead on a particular book while I was here today, but I’ve come up with nothing.”

“What book might that be?”

“It’s a book of prophecy, very old. The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of—”

“Agnes Nutter! Yes,” Aziraphale interrupted. “I’m familiar with it.”

“Do you have it?” Crowley asked with excitement. ”Name your price.”

“I’m afraid I _can’t_ name my price. I _don’t_ have it. _Nobody_ has it,” he said.

“Shame,” Crowley said, looking disappointed.

“Besides, if something like that _were_ here today,” Aziraphale leaned in conspiratorially, “You’d probably have to contend with the Serpent of Eden for it.”

Crowley’s eyes widened as he snorted. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale continued, looking around. “I’ve been told that he’s here today, and quite adept at getting what he wants at these auctions.”

“ _Really_?” Crowley’s serpentine grin widened as he lowered his glasses down his nose to get a better look at Aziraphale’s face. He didn’t want to miss the moment this gentle bookseller realized he was talking to the very person he was warning against. “What _else_ do you know about him?”

“Well, I don’t particularly know what he looks like, but I’ve been told to look out for him. You seem nice enough--"

"Oh, I'm not nice," Crowley corrected.

"Well, you’ve been nice enough to _me_ , anyway. I thought you might deserve a warning as well.” Aziraphale smiled sweetly at Crowley, who, internally, was melting into a puddle of goo.

“So,” Aziraphale continued. “What sort of client do you have that is after that particular book of prophecy?”

“I think you’d approve, actually,” Crowley mused, based on their conversation. “It’s the great, great, great,” Crowley huffed out a small sigh. “Well, a great many _greats_ grandniece of the author of the book. Apparently, they had a copy that had been passed down for generations, and somewhere along the way, it was lost.” Crowley tilted his head to the side as he looked off with a sigh. “She wants me to find it for her.” Crowley shrugged. “I don’t normally take on clients with such impossible goals, but she seems to really care about this, and she’s realistic about the difficulty. I told her I’d keep an eye out for it, and only charge her if I find it.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale perked up with a smile. He was delighted by the story, and how this perfect stranger was essentially going out of his way at his own personal expense to track down the impossible. “Well, then, yes, I can see how that would be important to someone. Perhaps…” Aziraphale’s voice trailed off. He knew he was obviously attracted to the man before him, but would it be too forward of him to offer his phone number?

Purely for _business_ sake, of course.

“Perhaps?” Crowley inquired, prodding Aziraphale to continue.

“Well, _perhaps_ I _might_ be able to help you, with leads, I mean.” Aziraphale’s eyes brightened as he spoke. “I have several connections, after all, as this is an area I specialize in. Perhaps I might be of some assistance, if you were amenable. We might get together for lunch, to discuss resources, of course. I could give you my telephone number…”

Crowley quickly pulled out two business cards and a pen, handing them over to Aziraphale. “Yeah, I’m amenable. _Definitely_ amenable. Just write it down on one card, and you keep the other, so you’ll have mine,” he said.

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied, taking the items and jotting down his number. He handed the top card and pen back to Crowley before flipping the card in his hand over to read it.

Crowley did his best to keep silent as he watched the flush settle across Aziraphale’s cheeks.

“O-Ophidian Orchards,” Aziraphale read out loud. He looked up, just then noticing the snake tattooed next to Crowley’s right ear. “Ooooh,” he said, slowly elongating the vowel as realization settled in. “So, so that means that, that you’re—”

“ _Temptation himself_ ,” Crowley said with a smirk and a wink.

“Oh, I see,” Aziraphale said. “I’m so _terribly_ sorry for what I said earlier.”

“Relax.” Crowley reassured him. “You didn’t say anything about me that I didn’t _already_ know.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, terribly embarrassed. “Now that I’ve got everything available that I came for, I suppose I should go settle up and let you get back to it, then.”

“I do hope you’ll call,” Crowley looked down at the name written in neat, copperplate handwriting. _Oh, he’s even named for an angel_ , he thought. “Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale tilted his head as he looked away in thought. “I do believe I will,” he said, casting his eyes up, down, then back up along with an incandescent smile towards Crowley before turning to walk towards the cashier’s station.

Crowley tilted his head, watching with fond fascination as Aziraphale walked away.

“That man is going to break my heart,” Crowley mused aloud to himself with a sigh. “And I already _know_ I’m going to let him do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this off and on for at least a month or so now. I had planned to start it after M&M, but I've since expanded on that, and I just couldn't wait to get this started. It's at least half written now, but there's still a lot of connecting to do between scenes. This one isn't going to be in the same update schedule as my previous works, but between updates to M&M storylines and the different art event/zine projects I'm working on this summer, I will be updating this as I have time.


	2. Schrödinger's Luncheon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting together for food, drink, and confusion.

Crowley paced around the office in his flat. He reached for his phone, charging on his desk, only to pull his hand back with a hiss and a grimace.

“Do you _mind_?” Crowley asked with exasperation. “Not very fucking _well_ , apparently,” he muttered, attempting to extricate the rather large black and white tuxedo tom from his chair to sit down at his desk.

Crowley looked at his phone again. It was too early, wasn’t it? It hadn’t even been 24 hours and he was already champing at the bit to call Aziraphale. And for what? Yes, he needed the book, but Aziraphale had already mentioned not having it. Crowley definitely wanted to take him to lunch, but he was uncertain if a social call would be welcomed.

“He _seemed_ interested enough,” Crowley said to the cat in his lap, “But was he simply being pleasant to my face?”

The cat looked up at him.

“Don’t start with me, Figgs. You weren’t _there_. You don’t know,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes with a sigh. “But he _did_ offer his number,” he mused, holding the business card diagonally between the thumb and forefinger of one hand while writing the information down in a notebook with the other.

Crowley put the card down and reached for the phone again, whining as he lost his nerve a second time. “But, he only offered it professionally, didn’t he?” Crowley asked aloud. “Oh, but _that smile_ ,” Crowley said with a frustrated scowl, “That’s the kind of smile that could launch a thousand ships. He _has_ to know how powerful that is.” Crowley leaned back in his chair, puffing his cheeks out as he loudly exhaled. Figgs nudged against his hand.

“Did you want another daddy?” Crowley asked the cat in a singsong voice, scratching behind his ears. “Did you want a second daddy-waddykins?” Did yo—”

Crowley’s phone rang.

Gasping as if he had been caught red-handed while baby-talking to his cat about a man he had met the previous day, Crowley’s eyes widened. _What the actual fuck am I doing?_ He thought, scared of how the next words he spoke might come out. _I might as well be doodling his name in my—_

He put the pen down and flipped the note pad over.

“Not _one_ word,” he cautioned the cat as he reached for the phone.

“Aziraphale,” the name escaped his lips in a breathy whisper.

Forgetting how phones worked momentarily while staring at the screen in disbelief, he missed the call.

“Shit!” Crowley exclaimed, his face scrunching up angrily. His face relaxed, suddenly, his eyebrows shooting up. “Wait, no, no, this… This is fine. This is _great, even_ ,” he said aloud, slowly beginning to smile.

He sat, staring at the phone with a dumb grin on his face, for a few minutes before picking it up. Clearing his throat and rolling his shoulders, he hit the redial icon.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale answered. “I’m so glad you called back.”

“Hey, sorry I missed your call. I was in the middle of something important. Who is this?” Crowley asked, as if he hadn’t already programmed the number into his mobile the moment that man’s back was turned.

“Oh, uh, it’s… This is Aziraphale,” he said, lacking some of his previous enthusiasm.

“Aziraphale, Aziraphale… Oh, _right_! From the auction at The Garden yesterday.” Crowley grimaced, tapping his forehead with his fist. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ He thought. _Why am I like this?_ “Any news? Found the book yet?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale said with more of the enthusiasm he had at first. “No, no news. But I did want to talk to you about that. I thought perhaps, if you were s-still interested, of course, that we might get together for that luncheon meeting we discussed. Perhaps we could compare notes on items we’ve been searching for, as well as,” he swallowed audibly even over the phone, “A-areas to pursue.”

 _Yes, yes, a thousand times yes,_ Crowley’s mind screamed at him. _I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Let’s go **now**!_

“Hmm,” Crowley replied. That might not be a bad idea, actually. Did you have a time in mind?”

“Well, I hope it isn’t too forward of me, but—”

“Never.”

“Well, then,” Aziraphale said nervously. “Perhaps, if you weren’t otherwise occupied, I thought we might get together for lunch sometime in the near future.”

“Hmm,” Crowley hummed casually. “Let me check my calendar.” He turned his notebook back over, loudly rustling the blank pages he flipped through.

Figgs looked up at him with a yawn. Crowley narrowed his eyes, sticking his tongue out at the cat who was only mildly aware of all this foolishness.

“Well,” Crowley said, blustering slightly as he made a few noncommittal noises, “I happen to have a little time today, actually, if you were open to a bit of a late lunch. Got done with a few things earlier than anticipated.”

He had already cleaned out and rearranged his freezer just that morning.

“Oh, delightful,” Aziraphale replied. “I’m afraid I won’t have quite everything together by then, but I wouldn’t mind getting a head start and building on that.”

“Splendid,” Crowley replied, unable to keep the smile off of his face. “Do you enjoy Italian?”

“Very much so, yes,” Aziraphale said. “Did you have something in mind?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Shall we say 2:00 at Granaio?”

“On such short notice?” Aziraphale asked. “Isn’t that a bit—”

“Not to worry. I’ll take care of everything. I have a standing reservation,” Crowley explained. “Short notice is never a problem for me there. I do a bit of work now and then for the owner. In fact, you might be quite helpful in some of the future requests.”

“Jolly good,” Aziraphale said, smile evident in his voice. “I couldn’t _possibly_ object to being helpful, when you put it that way. I’ll see you there,” he said, hanging up.

After making a quick call to confirm a 2:00 reservation, Crowley put the phone down on his desk with a contented sigh. He looked down at the cat, still in his lap, and scooped him up into an embarrassingly silly hug and snuggle as he stood up. He cradled and rocked Figgs in his arms as he walked through the flat towards the shower to get ready. Figgs, having done his level best to suffer through the indignity of it all, managed to break free just past the living room couch.

Crowley walked up to the restaurant. He felt his stomach flutter upon seeing the familiar platinum blonde curls glowing in a patch of bright sunlight filtering through the clouds.

Aziraphale, upon hearing him approach, turned around with a smile almost as radiantly bright as the sun that shone down on him. “ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale said in a way that warmed Crowley's cheeks and the tips of his ears. Crowley filed that away into his memory to obsess over later. A smile hinted along the corner of Crowley’s mouth when Aziraphale gestured towards the door to the restaurant. “After you.”

After being seated by the host, they picked up their menus.

“What’s good here?” Aziraphale asked.

“Everything, really,” Crowley said, casually as he opened his menu. “I usually get something grilled, unless I’m in the mood for soup.” He already knew what he would order. It would be one of two options, depending on how the next part went.

“Oh, I noticed that aroma when we came it. It smelled _delightful_ , Aziraphale said, opening his menu.

If this were a date, this would be where Crowley would possibly know how the rest of the date would go. This moment, _the_ _order_ , was generally the _tell_. It wasn’t just the price of the order, but the way the order would be placed. He appreciated someone who enjoyed themselves in his company. He had no qualms about someone ordering whatever they truly wanted. He was happy to provide it. What made it stand out, however, was _how_ they selected it. A quick order of an unfamiliar item of high cost was, unfortunately, a fairly common occurrence. It was usually followed by a request for the most expensive items on the wine and dessert lists. On _those_ dates, Crowley ordered soup, water, and nothing more for himself in an effort to get through the evening as quickly as possible. “What sounds good to _you_?” Crowley asked.

“Hmm,” Aziraphale mused, poring over the menu. His eyebrows flexed and contracted as he glanced from side to side, teeth worrying slightly at his bottom lip. “It all looks so enticing.” Aziraphale looked up to find Crowley staring at him. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to be so—"

“No, no. Don’t apologize,” Crowley smiled warmly. “I’m glad you’re taking your time. You just think about what you like and get that.” Crowley was already feeling more confident. This indecision was both promising and adorable.

“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? It all sounds so incredible. But perhaps…” Aziraphale pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, at the menu in his hand. “I think I may be leaning towards the Parmigiana di Melanzane. I do enjoy aubergine.”

Crowley nodded, glancing to find it on the menu. “And what would you have with it?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head and looking away. “T-that’s all I need, really.”

Crowley smiled. “Surely you’d like more than that.”

“Actually,” Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed a bit. “I _do_ have a bit of a sweet tooth,” he whispered. “Perhaps I might also have a bit of dessert.”

“You planned to order one of the lowest priced items on the menu, just so you could have something sweet after?”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, straightening up slightly in his chair. “I don’t _have_ to. I wouldn’t want to impose on your generosity.”

Crowley’s stomach did a somersault. _Oh, you silly, precious thing_. ”Of _course_ you can have dessert. In fact, I insist.”

“Have we come to a decision?” The waiter asked, having stepped over to the table.

“We have,” Crowley said, glancing over at Aziraphale. “May I?”

“Please,” Aziraphale replied, handing his menu over to the waiter.

“We would both like the aubergine parmigiana to start, and the grilled salmon fillet with sautéed spinach and yoghurt, please, for two.” Crowley looked up at Aziraphale with a grin. “And please ask us about dessert after.”

“Very good, sir,” the waiter said. “And would you care to see the wine list, or would you like your usual Prosecco?”

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, raising his eyebrows in question.

Aziraphale nodded with a shrug.

Crowley smiled back at the waiter. “You certainly are on top of things. Yes, the usual would be lovely, thank you.”

After an enjoyable meal and quite a bit of enriching discussion regarding some of the better avenues for tracking down rare books, the desserts came. They had opted on a slice of cake each, with a scoop of gelato on the side.

Crowley lost the spoon from his lips and the breath from his lungs at the sound of Aziraphale’s first bite.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said with concern. “Are you quite all right?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, sure,” Crowley said roughly, clearing his throat as he ducked down to pick his spoon up off of the floor. “Just briefly forgot how to swallow.”

Crowley cringed at his choice of words as he sat back up, wiping his spoon on his napkin just in time for both to be taken from him and replaced with fresh.

“Thank you, but it was fine,” Crowley said to the exceedingly efficient waiter, who merely smiled politely and returned to the kitchen.

Aziraphale smiled reassuringly before looking back down at his plate for another bite.

Prepared this time, Crowley carefully placed the spoon back down after his bite. He smoothed the creamy, melting gelato atop his tongue around in his mouth as he listened to the sinful sounds coming from the angel before him. Carefully, he swallowed before speaking. “Enjoying your dessert, then?” _I know **I** am_, Crowley thought.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” Aziraphale said. “It’s positively _scrumptious_.”

Crowley, upon noticing how empty Aziraphale’s plate was, scooted what was left of his own towards him.

“Oh, I couldn’t. You’ve barely touched it,” Aziraphale said.

“Don’t have much of a sweet tooth,” Crowley said, truthfully. “I just like a bit of a taste.”

“Still,” Aziraphale said, eyeing the plate as he tried to hide how much he _did_ want the rest.

“Be a shame to let it go to waste,” Crowley pouted, nudging the plate a bit closer to Aziraphale.

“Are you trying to tempt me?”

“Is it working?”

Aziraphale grinned, glancing up coyly at Crowley. “Now I know why they _really_ call you the Serpent of Eden,” he said, pulling the plate towards himself.

Crowley propped his chin on his knuckles, watching as Aziraphale savored the dessert. _I could watch you eat cake all day,_ he thought, his free hand tightening its grip on the tablecloth.

 _If this **is** a date_, Crowley thought, _I can hardly wait to take you back to mine and_ —

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide when his text chime went off. “Oh, I am so sorry,” he said, dabbing his lips delicately with his napkin. “I forgot to turn it off.”

“Not a problem,” Crowley lifted the hand that was clutching the tablecloth and waved it dismissively. He didn’t mind someone checking their phone after an alert during a meal. It was when someone _stayed_ on their phone rather than even pretend to be interested in his company, _that_ was what bothered him.

Aziraphale’s face scrunched up with a sigh as he looked down at his screen. “It’s my partner,” he said.

Crowley’s face fell. _Ah_ , he thought. **_Not_** _a date, then._ Crowley regained his neutral expression just in time for Aziraphale to look back up at him.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our luncheon short,” Aziraphale said, looking as disappointed as Crowley felt. “Gabriel is having a bit of a crisis with an order, and it appears I’m the only one who can help.”

“Oh, right, of course,” Crowley nodded rapidly and wobblily. “Sure, sure, yeah, no, I get it.” Crowley stood up awkwardly. “You go on, then. I’ll, uh, I’ll just wrap things up here, shall I?”

“Again, I am _dreadfully_ sorry,” Aziraphale said, standing up as well. “But I had a wonderful time,” he said with a smile. “It was quite an enlightening meeting. I do hope we might do this again.”

“Right,” Crowley said, nodding vigorously. “Good meeting, yeah.” He stuck his hand out in an invitation to shake it.

Aziraphale eyed the extended hand with an almost imperceptible slump of shoulders before reaching out to accept, shaking Crowley’s hand.

 _Warm_ , Crowley thought, suppressing a shiver. _Your hand is **so** warm._ He released his grasp, quickly stuffing his hands in his pockets as far as they would go. _Stop thinking about his hands,_ Crowley admonished himself, noticing the tight smile on Aziraphale’s face and how he had begun wringing his own hands. _He has a partner._ _You’re making him uncomfortable._

Crowley watched as Aziraphale walked away, sitting down heavily at the table and pulling the plate in front of Aziraphale’s empty chair back over to himself to finish with a sigh.

Aziraphale had just unlocked the door to the bookshop when his text notification chimed again. If he were being honest with himself, he had been a bit disappointed when Crowley hadn’t picked up his hint about wanting to see him again, instead awkwardly offering to shake his hand. Hope swelling in his chest that it was Crowley wanting to set up another…

Aziraphale paused after locking the door behind him. What _had_ that been? _Was_ it a date? Or had it been purely business? It had been going so well, whatever it was. But the way Crowley had acted at the end, so cold and somewhat standoffish, Aziraphale wondered if it _hadn’t_ gone as well as he thought.

He fished his phone from his pocket, looking to see the message was from Gabriel.

> **Hey, sorry about that!  
>  I found the book. It  
> had fallen behind  
> the shelf. You don’t  
> need to come  
> after all.**

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Aziraphale groaned as a thought occurred to him. “ _That’s_ what it was. He probably thought I had set up an escape text and took it,” Aziraphale huffed as he stomped his way towards the back of the shop.

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel said, popping his head up from behind a stack of boxes. “Didn’t you get my—” His eyes widened as he noticed the expression on Aziraphale’s face. “Whoa, what’s wrong there, buddy?”

Aziraphale stalked the rest of the way across the room, picking up a newspaper from the table to swat Gabriel over the head repeatedly.

“What was that for?” Gabriel said, holding his arm up to block the impact of current events.

“For whatever _might_ have been,” Aziraphale said with irritation as he began stomping upstairs to his flat.

“What does _that_ mean?” Gabriel asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I don’t _know_ , but it _definitely_ means I’ll be sleeping in my own bed tonight,” he said, slamming the door behind him.

Once inside of his flat, Aziraphale sat down to make a call. When Crowley didn’t answer, he left a voicemail instead.

“Hello, Crowley? I just wanted to apologize again for leaving so abruptly earlier. Truly, I would have preferred to continue our… m-meeting. Um,” he sighed, looking around. “If you happen upon a bit of free time later this week, and you didn’t mind, I thought perhaps we might be able to continue our conversation. There were still a few points we never got around to covering, and I think it might be beneficial to go over them together.” Aziraphale sat down on the edge of his bed, looking at the floor. “Just… Well, just give me a call, or, or text if you prefer. If you would like to, that is. You aren’t obligated at all, of course. I simply thought you might, well, that it might…” Aziraphale grimaced. “Well, anyway, I look forward to hearing from you soon, if you like.”

He hung up the phone and laid back on his bed, attempting to smother himself temporarily with his pillow.

Crowley walked into his flat, tossing his keys in the dish on the side next to the door. He kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the couch. He reached into his pocket for his phone to see if anyone had called while it was on silent. Seeing a missed call from Aziraphale, he sat upright quickly, pressing the voicemail icon to listen.

Crowley couldn’t help the smile creeping across his face as he listened to the message. “ _So what_ if he has a partner,” Crowley said to the cat sleeping on the back of the couch. “There’s no reason we couldn’t be friends.”

A few days later, they met for cream tea. It was such a lovely day, they elected to sit in the garden dining area to enjoy the fresh air.

“So,” Crowley began as they waited for their food to be served. “How long have you and your partner been together?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, looking off to the side as he attempted to tally up the years. “We met sharing a dorm at uni back when we were, well, I was 20, so he would have been 18, I think.”

“Wow,” Crowley’s eyes widened. “ _That_ long?”

Aziraphale’s eyes cut across the table. “I’m not _that_ old.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Crowley said. “I actually figured you were around my age. I’m 48.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale softened. “Yes, quite right. That’s how old Gabriel is.”

“That’s his name? Gabriel?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Anyway, he ended up falling in love and decided to stay in the UK.”

Crowley smiled, sighing wistfully. “I can understand that.”

“It really was ineffable, meeting someone with such compatible interests while we were both in school for the same thing.”

Crowley grinned, “Well, that's not ineffability so much as lesson planning and coursework.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I do, yes,” Crowley laughed. “Still, it’s impressive,” Crowley said with a sigh as he looked off to the side. “Being with the same partner for thirty years.”

“Well, to be fair, we weren’t _always_ partners,” Aziraphale replied. “That didn’t come until later, once we had settled into a better understanding of what we each wanted. Before that, we were mostly just friends who had vague concepts of what we wanted from our lives.”

Crowley nodded. That made sense. He looked down, noticing, not for the first time, that though he wore a gold signet ring on his right pinky, Aziraphale didn’t wear a wedding ring on his left hand at all. “Have you ever considered marriage?”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up. “Not this early.”

Crowley’s head pulled back as his eyebrows furrowed. “This early?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale flustered with embarrassment. “Do you mean in general? I haven’t really had any prospects, but—”

“I meant to each other, but—”

“What?” They both said simultaneously.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Aziraphale, still ever so confused, had to ask. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry, I was simply curious. You don’t have to answer. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Crowley said with chagrin.

“No, no,” Aziraphale replied. “I just want to know what we’re talking about. What did you mean by _to each other?”_

Crowley sighed. “I was just thinking that you might have been married, but you don’t wear a wedding ring.” Crowley leaned his elbows on the table, resting his head in his hands. “I know, I ask a lot of questions. Tends to get me into trouble sometimes. I apologize.”

“Truth be told, I’ve never really been with anyone where that was a reasonable option,” Aziraphale said quietly.

Crowley was confused. “What about Gabriel?”

Aziraphale was equally confused. “Gabriel is married to his wife.”

“Wait, but you two are partners.” Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “Is it one of those poly things? I’ve heard of that. How does that work?”

Aziraphale shook his head and narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What? No! I…” Aziraphale’s eyes widened with realization and he began to laugh out loud. “You think…” Aziraphale covered his mouth momentarily to try to collect himself as he finally understood what was happening. “Gabriel and I are _business_ partners. Well, he’s also my best friend, but no, I’m _terribly_ single.”

Crowley’s mouth formed a silent _oh_ shape. Slowly, a devious grin spread across his lips and up to his eyes. “ _Terribly single_ , you say?”

Aziraphale blushed almost to the color of the jam on the next table. “Well, I suppose.”

Crowley’s grin had worked into a full-blown smirk as he processed this new information. “So, if you’re single, _hypothetically_ , what would you say if I were to ask you to dinner?”

“We are currently _literally_ _at tea_ ,” Aziraphale said incredulously.

“I meant like on a date,” Crowley hissed, though there was no malice behind it.

Aziraphale blinked momentarily. “It seems that’s my answer, then,” Aziraphale said off to the side.

“What answer?” Crowley asked.

“Well,” Aziraphale began awkwardly, “I suppose I rather thought _this_ was a date, to make up for having to leave early when you took me to Granaio.”

“You what?” Crowley’s jaw dropped.

“So sorry to disappoint you,” Aziraphale shrank.

“No, no, no! Not disappointed at all.” Crowley quickly attempted to reassure Aziraphale. “I had _hoped_ it was a date, too, that first meeting, but then you mentioned your partner, and—"

“And I rather made a mess of things by not specifying,” Aziraphale said, nodding. “And that’s why you shook my hand.”

Crowley looked around sheepishly. “I may have a reputation, but it’s not as a home-wrecker.”

“What made you agree to coming to tea with me now, then?”

Crowley looked at him in earnest. “I really enjoyed spending time with you the other day. I thought, even if you weren’t available, we might still be friends.”

Aziraphale huffed a fond sigh at that. “Could we start over, do you think?”

Crowley nodded. “I’d like that.”

The waiter brought out their cream tea, placing the assorted items onto the table. Aziraphale smiled pleasantly as they both thanked the waiter.

Crowley picked up the tea pot, pouring tea into Aziraphale’s cup first, then his own, while Aziraphale placed a scone upon Crowley’s plate, then his own. Aziraphale had already put a spoon of jam onto his own plate and had picked up the cream by the time Crowley had finished pouring the tea. Crowley opened his scone and reached towards the jam.

“I swear, no matter _how_ lovely you are, if you keep going in the direction you’re going, I’ll get up and leave,” Aziraphale said, not looking up as he placed the cream in front of Crowley.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale spread the cream on his scone. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, letting it pop back out into a grin. “You think I’m lovely.”

“I think you’re a _beast_ if you put that jam on first,” Aziraphale said, darting his eyes up momentarily towards Crowley as he spread his own jam over the top of the clotted cream.

“Is that so?” Crowley asked, lazily reaching across the table towards the jam again.

Aziraphale put his prepared scone down on his plate, looking directly into Crowley’s eyes. “I will stab you with my fork.”

Crowley huffed a fond laugh, reaching instead to steal the prepared scone from Aziraphale’s plate. “Well, there’s no need to resort to bloodshed,” Crowley said, taking a bite and putting it back. He licked his fingers with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Aziraphale scoffed. “You might as well have the rest of that, if only to keep me from having to watch you do something despicable,” Aziraphale said, placing the rest of it on Crowley’s plate as he ducked his face to hide his smile.

Their conversation flowed quite nicely in between nibbles and quibbles as they continued their afternoon.

“I suppose you have a type, then, is that it?” Aziraphale asked, dabbing his lips with his napkin.

“That depends,” Crowley said, tracing his spoon around the rim of his cup.

“Oh? On what?” Aziraphale asked, watching him with keen eyes over the edge of his own cup as he took a sip.

“Depends on _when_ you’re asking about,” Crowley replied, leaning back in his chair. “If you had asked me before, I’d have said no. But _now_ ,” the corner of his lip quirked up slightly as he sprawled further into his chair, “I’d have to say I’ve had a type ever since I first laid eyes on you.”

Aziraphale snorted into his teacup. “Smooth,” he managed to quietly choke out. “Quite the silver-tongued devil, you are.”

Crowley grinned with a laugh, looking around. “Yeah, that’s me. Smooth as silk and twice as tempting.” He looked back towards Aziraphale, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth with a smile momentarily before letting it pop back out. “What about you?” He asked, picking up his cup to take a sip.

“Oh, I tend to attract nothing but tossers.”

It was Crowley’s turn to sputter into his cup. He watched with fascination as Aziraphale grinned. That bastard _grinned_. He knew what he was doing.

“Is that so?” Crowley managed to ask after regaining his composure.

Aziraphale nodded. “Obviously, things haven’t worked out for me to be single now, but in general, it’s…” Aziraphale’s voice trailed off as he poured more tea between the two of them. “I don’t really want to get into all that right now.”

“Fair enough,” Crowley replied.

“So,” Aziraphale said, looking Crowley up and down. “What has your situation been like?”

“I, uh,” Crowley said, the grimace on his face shifting back and forth as he considered what to say. “I’ve had a series of unsuccessful relationships with goldfish, but my longest relationship has been with my cat.”

“And what about people?”

Crowley closed his eyes, shaking his head with a put-upon sigh. “What _about_ them?”

Aziraphale nodded slowly, understanding. “Ah, I see. In that case, what can you tell me about your cat and erstwhile goldfish?”

Crowley smiled, appreciating that not only did Aziraphale not push the subject, but that he also changed it. “The cat's name is Figaro, like in the Mickey Mouse cartoon, but I call him Figgs.”

“What about the goldfish?”

Crowley’s nose scrunched up as his brows furrowed. “The goldfish didn’t have names. Why would you name a goldfish? It won’t know. You could call it sashimi and it wouldn’t _know_.”

“ _You’d_ know.”

“I _already_ knew it was a goldfish. That… I didn’t really need more distinction than that. It’s… Living décor. It’s just a plant that swims. It’s not going to come when you call it,” he paused, remembering something. “But if it does, you’ve got a bigger problem. Have you seen those fish cars?”

Aziraphale covered his eyes with his hand. “Not the fish cars.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said, eyes still closed as he shook his head and waved his hand. “Please, continue.”

“Eh,” Crowley shrugged. “Not much else to tell, really. They were goldfish. Found I liked actual plants better, and my cat tends to be the jealous type.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised in question.

“What do you think happened to the fish?”

Aziraphale laughed.

“It’s not funny,” Crowley said with a straight face. “It’s _tragic_. Stop laughing, you ghoul.”

Naturally, that only served to make Aziraphale laugh harder.

After staying far later than any cream tea should have lasted, Crowley paid the check while Aziraphale was in the restroom.

“Why did you do that?” Aziraphale asked with mild irritation. “I asked _you_ to tea. I had fully intended to pay.”

Crowley shrugged. “Just used to it, I guess.” _You were in the restroom,_ Crowley thought. _That’s what people do when they expect me to pay._

Aziraphale huffed a sigh of annoyance, but let the matter drop. _It’s just tea_ , Aziraphale thought. _It’s a **nice** thing he did, that’s all. It isn’t a comment on me or whether or not I can take care of myself._

They walked side-by-side through the dining area inside of the restaurant and through the exit.

As much as Crowley had thought about Aziraphale’s lips and other parts of his anatomy, and he _had_ thought about them, Crowley decided that since they hadn’t yet had a fully-official date, and after the way Aziraphale balked at some of the conversational bits earlier, it might be a good idea to take things slow. Crowley wanted this to last, after all. It was already starting to shape into one of his longer relationships, having lasted through almost an entire week thus far.

In spite of how much his body was screaming otherwise, Crowley leaned into Aziraphale. They locked eyes as he licked his lips, pressing his mouth flat in a way that dimpled his cheeks. He remembered the way their hands felt touching one another, how warm Aziraphale was then. Would he be warm now?

With a soft, gentle smile, Aziraphale, seeming to read Crowley’s mind, wrapped his arms around Crowley’s torso to pull him close.

Crowley pressed their temples and cheeks together, savoring the embrace. He never got enough of this. No one ever just _hugged_ him. He didn’t want to let go. But, like all good things, it had to come to an end.

“I’d like to see you again,” Aziraphale said, pressing a soft, chaste kiss against Crowley’s knuckles. “May I?”

Crowley nodded. “I’m regrettably busy this weekend, but early next week is flexible, and I’m _very_ open on Tuesday, if you’d like to have dinner.”

“Good,” Aziraphale said, bringing Crowley’s other hand to his lips. “It’s a date.”


	3. The Geometry Around Our Heads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The St James Park Blitz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mention of past successful cancer treatment

Though he was in Italy on business brokering an art deal between clients, Crowley could not stop thinking about Aziraphale. He was looking forward to seeing him again in a way he hadn’t felt about possibly _anyone_ in a _very_ long time.

It would have been nice to have been able to hold onto that feeling when he got back to London on Tuesday morning, finding officers from the Financial Crime Unit waiting for him at his office to question him about his accountant.

When Arthur Bychance interviewed for the position, he had explained to Crowley that he had a son he was trying to support, and that he had come from such humble beginnings, not unlike Crowley himself. Crowley had decided to give the man a chance he himself hadn’t gotten, to give him an opportunity to get ahead without quite so much struggle. There had been other applicants with better experience and references, as well as more education, but Crowley had really _liked_ Arthur. He had actually come to count the man as one of his closest friends.

He had not anticipated being swindled for a sizeable chunk of his fortune and his _entire_ inventory that he had built up over years of curating.

Crowley had spent quite a few of his formative years _liberating_ items from many places. He spent a lot of time selling things, first in back alleys, and eventually on the black market, as a young person after being kicked out of his childhood home and forced into a situation where he had to fend for himself. After a few years, he realized that he had a bit of an eye for antiques and collectibles, and found that he rather enjoyed the history involved with so much of it. In time, he was able to take his ill-gotten gains and eventually branch out into legitimate work in obtaining items for sale and trade.

Even then, during his more criminal past, Crowley had a particular code of ethics. He only ever took from rich old buggers who he thought wouldn’t miss it.

Crowley angrily kicked over an empty display pedestal. “Now _I’m_ the rich old bugger,” he mused aloud with a disdainful, wretched laugh.

He wondered, with regret, if this was the way the marks of his youth had felt, upon discovering items in their collections missing.

Crowley slammed the door to his flat when he got home. He stomped around, the shits he once had for his downstairs neighbor's peace and quiet long gone, along with his possessions. He went to his atrium in an attempt to calm down.

Armed with a plant mister, he aggressively hydrated a few plants, muttering expletives the entire time. He had already worked himself back up by the time he got to the plants near the window.

“You miserable lot take up so much of my time and resources, do you know that?” He snarled as the last of the water in the bottle misted into the air. He tossed it to the side. “Tell you what. The fucking _sun_ is free. How about that?” Crowley said, grabbing the curtains and yanking them down off of the wall.

“Shit!” He shouted into the room before sitting down uselessly in the middle of the floor.

The phone in his pocket began to vibrate. Crowley answered it without bothering to look at the screen. “ _What_?”

There was a pause. “Crowley? I, hmm… Is this a bad time?”

Crowley covered his eyes with his hand, laying back into the floor to sprawl out. “Yes, actually, it _is_ ,” he said with the resigned sigh of one perilously close to shutting down and attempting some form of hibernation to avoid thinking about things. “I’m having a _moment_ here.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to—"

“Not your fault. You didn’t do anything. Anyway, I’m gonna go,” Crowley said, hanging up the phone and throwing it into the pile of curtains in the floor.

Figgs stepped up onto Crowley’s chest, staring down at him.

“Oh, _fuck you_ , Figgs. I told him it wasn’t his fault. Don’t look at me like that.”

After three days, several missed calls, voicemails, and text messages back and forth full of small talk about nothing, and absolutely _no_ discussion of what was wrong, Aziraphale finally managed to convince Crowley to lunch in the hopes of discovering whatever it was that had changed Crowley’s previous demeanor so drastically.

It was _not_ going well.

“You keep going on and on about going to Paris. _That’s the only place to find decent crepes_ ,” Crowley said mockingly. “I’m good for other things, too, you know. I’m not just a walking wallet.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. “What are you on about?”

“I don’t trust you.”

“What?”

“I need some reassurance,” he said. “I've known you under a fortnight. Why should I believe you’re any different than anyone else who has taken advantage of me?”

“I…” Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth a few times, struggling to find words. “I have _no idea_ what you mean, nor do I know how to prove it.” His eyebrows furrowed. “And for that matter, I _don’t_ owe you an explanation for whatever nonsense you’re playing at here.”

Crowley scoffed, looking around. “The pretty ones always ruin me.”

“What?” Aziraphale repeated, incredulously.

Crowley looked him up and down in an attempt to size him up. Was this part of a manipulation, or did Aziraphale _really_ not know how beautiful he was? Crowley narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

“For your information, I don’t _need_ you to take me to Paris,” Aziraphale said with irritation. “I don’t need some big, manly-man to take care of me. I’m perfectly capable of taking _myself_ wherever I want to go. I’m not _helpless_.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up and his chair dropped from its lean. He balked at the idea of unpacking all the rainbow-colored shades of _wrong_ that description truly was for him. Unfortunately, when Aziraphale noticed this, he thought it was a reaction to his ability to take care of himself.

They both remained quiet with strained smiles and polite nods as the waiter brought the bill to the table. Purely out of habit, Crowley reached immediately for the bill, snatching it up to tuck the card that suddenly appeared, as if by miracle, inside of the folio.

“You know,” Crowley began in an attempt to set the record straight, metaphorically speaking. “You might just be making an assumption about—"

“I don’t understand what you mean, nor do I feel that I deserve whatever it is you’re referring to,” Aziraphale said, looking away with frustration as he tugged uselessly at the hem of his waistcoat. He couldn’t bear one more moment being made to feel this way, as if he were so useless that he couldn’t even pay for his own lunch after being the one to invite Crowley out to begin with. Aziraphale stood up, fumbling for his wallet long enough to throw a few notes onto the table.

Crowley quickly moved the note that landed on the candle before he leaned his head back, hissing an expletive through his teeth. “Wait,” he said, reaching tentatively for Aziraphale’s wrist. “If I’m wrong, I’m sorry for making an assumption, too. But _surely_ you can see why I’d be nervous when someone who looks as you do would want to spend time with _me_.”

“I _don’t_ ,” Aziraphale snapped angrily. He jerked his hands back up to clasp together in front of himself, turning around. He _didn't_ see why Crowley would think that, other than as a cruel joke. He was all too aware of how he appeared to others. He didn’t want to be _reminded_ of it.

“Right,” Crowley said, his heart sinking rapidly as Aziraphale had confirmed he _didn't_ want to spend time with Crowley after all. “You’re just going to leave, are you? Go, then. I have _lots_ of other people to spend an afternoon with. I don’t need you,” he lied.

“And the feeling is _mutual_!” Aziraphale said, turning around to speak briefly before storming out the door.

A few weeks later, though initially reluctant to do so, Crowley thought perhaps he might check one of his online dating profiles again to see if anyone caught his interest. He figured he could use a nice conversation over a meal. Either it would go well and lead to a second date, or if not, he might clear his mind with a little no-strings-attached sex, at least.

A few emails later, he found himself sitting across from a virtual stranger at his usual table at Granaio.

“Did you just take a photo of the menu?” Crowley asked, wishing he could remember the _actual_ name of Spoolyboi6969.

“Yeah. I wanted to post it to Instagram, you know, to make my friends all jealous.”

Crowley’s eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Well, it’s not the sort of thing I could do _every_ day, you know.”

 _Ah_ , Crowley nodded. He _did_ know. He himself had been in a far more destitute financial situation years before. He could appreciate that. “So, you’ve decided, then?”

The man nodded. “The bone-in ribeye.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, glancing over at the menu to find it was literally the most expensive thing listed. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing in and of itself. If his date happened to be a fan of the cut, it was a perfectly reasonable order. “They do a _lovely_ grill here, especially if you’re a fan of ribeye. I—"

"Oh, I've never had it before. I've always wanted to _try_ it, but I didn't want to spend that much on something if I wasn't sure I'd like it."

 _Well_ , Crowley thought, closing his menu. _At least now I don’t have to worry about making an arse of myself. This clearly isn’t going beyond the bill._

“Have we come to a decision?” The waiter asked, having stepped over to the table.

“Have we?” Crowley asked, glancing across at his date for the evening.

“Yes,” the man replied, handing his menu over to the waiter. “I would like the Caesar salad, bone-in ribeye with mash, and let’s get an Antipasto,” he looked Crowley up and down with a smirk. “To _share_. You’ll need your strength later.”

Crowley smiled wanly.

“And for you, sir?” The water asked Crowley.

“Eh, I’ll just have the minestrone,” he said with a sigh as the waiter cocked his head to the side sympathetically.

“Very good, sir,” the waiter said. “And would you care to see the wine list, or would you like your usual Pros—”

“Give me the wine list,” Spoolyboi6969 said quickly, interrupting with an outstretched hand. “I’m in the mood for something… Sinfully decadent.”

The waiter’s eyes cut towards Crowley, who met his gaze with tired resignation and a slight nod. “Sparkling water for me, thanks.” _I just want to be done and go home,_ Crowley thought _. Alone._

Aziraphale had tried. He _really_ had. He had _tried_ to find a way to get out of going to dinner with Gabriel and Bea tonight once he found out that they were going to Granaio, of all places, that night. He tried to suggest somewhere else, but Gabriel had explained that Bea had been dying to go for the longest time, and it had only gotten worse since Aziraphale had talked about how good the food was. They had made reservations for three already, and Gabriel pointed out they might not be seated without their entire party on such short notice. Aziraphale thought that might be a little dramatic, but agreed to go anyway.

After all, what were the odds of them both eating in the same restaurant at the same time on the same night?

“Oh, _fuck_.”

“Did you say something, Aziraphale?” Gabriel asked as they waited to be seated.

Aziraphale shook his head silently, trying to crouch behind Gabriel.

Crowley noticed a familiar pale flash from the corner of his eye. _Oh, no_ , he thought, looking over to see Aziraphale being seated at a table in another section.

“Right, uh,” Crowley said, pulling his wallet out. “I’ve just remembered something I need to do in the morning. Gonna call it an early night.” He pulled a few notes from his wallet and dropped them on the table. “You go on and have a nice meal. It’s on me.”

“Wait,” the man across from him said, putting his fork down. “I though after, we were going to…” He cocked his head to the side with a grin. “ _You_ know.”

Crowley looked over at Aziraphale again with a heavy sigh. “I don’t think that’s…“ Crowley shook his head. “I really don’t feel up to it tonight.”

The man glanced in the direction Crowley was looking, noticing Aziraphale as well. “Are you trying to avoid someone? Is that your ex, then?”

Crowley turned to face Spoolyboi6969 once more. “We don’t… We don’t _need_ to do this, do we?” He stood up from the table, scowling as he shook his head. “I’m just gonna go,” Crowley said, walking away.

Aziraphale looked up from where he was attempting to hide behind his menu just in time to see a stone-faced Crowley walk past, headed towards the exit.

Bea glanced between them upon seeing Aziraphale’s reaction. “Friend of yours?”

Aziraphale smiled automatically. It was his usual defense. “You know, the salmon is quite lovely here, if that’s something you’re considering.”

A few minutes later, a man carrying a bag full of foil-wrapped items approached the table.

“Look,” the stranger pointed accusingly at Aziraphale. “I don’t know _who you are_ or _what you did to him_ , but you’ve _ruined_ my entire evening.” He looked Aziraphale up and down, scoffed with disgust, and stomped away.

“What was _that_ all about?” Gabriel asked.

“I, I don’t really want to talk about it,” Aziraphale said.

“Wait, was that the guy? The one from—"

“You knew he might be here.” Bea said with quiet sympathy.

Aziraphale lifted his eyebrows with a shrug. “I should probably go so you two can have a nice evening. I just need to wait a few minutes first.”

“If you hurry, you could probably catch up to him,” Gabriel said.

Bea put her hand on Gabriel’s arm. “Babe, he wants to wait a few minutes to give the man time to _leave_ first,” she said quietly.

Aziraphale looked to her with a warm, but sad smile and an appreciative nod as he stood up. “Happy birthday, Bea.”

In an effort to reduce unnecessary spending, at least until he felt a more comfortable cushion had returned to his bank account with his insurance claim settlement, Crowley went back to running his own errands, including doing a shop.

A few interesting things had happened at the office earlier, and Crowley was quite looking forward to discussing his day with Figgs while he cooked dinner for one and opened a tin of something nice for his furry dining partner. He _just_ wanted some nice vegetables for a quiet dinner at home. Just a man and his cat.

He wasn’t sad or lonely at all.

He _wasn’t_.

As a general rule, Crowley did not like people. He _especially_ did not like people speaking to him, or reaching into his personal bubble to invade his space.

“I bet you’d rather take me out to a nice dinner than go home and cook that courgette,” the woman said, placing her hand on his elbow and glancing between his trolley and his watch before looking up at him. She had been following him around the shop already, making comments and occasional lewd noises into her phone.

Crowley groaned so hard internally that some spilled out into the external sphere of existence. He hadn’t been on a date since that night, _months_ ago, at Granaio where he had last seen Aziraphale. His heart just wasn’t in it then, and it definitely wasn’t _now_.

“Never bet against the House,” Crowley said, frowning at an aubergine. “And who says I’m going to _cook_ with it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The woman said, her pitch warbling dangerously close to glass-breaking levels.

Crowley’s eye twitched as he cringed. “It means that I’m _not interested_.”

“Is it because you’re gay?”

Crowley sighed, placing both hands along the edge of the produce bin to lean on for support. He didn’t feel like unpacking everything that was incorrect about that assumption, though he supposed he might have brought that one on himself with that courgette comment. Instead, he just went with the first thing to come to him. “No, it’s because you’re _twelve_ , and you’re _very_ noisy.”

“I’m 22,” the woman balked.

“And I’m 48. You’re closer to twelve than you are my age,” Crowley explained. The woman opened her mouth to reply, only to be cut off quite promptly. “And you’re _still_ noisy.”

As a general rule, Aziraphale liked people. He especially liked them when they stayed a respectable social distance of two meters away, and didn’t touch his things.

This did not describe his customers particularly well.

“Can I help you?” Aziraphale asked, coming out of the back and onto the sales floor upon hearing the chiming bells on the door.

“Is Gabriel in?”

“No, he’s not, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale replied. “Is there something I could do for you?”

“I doubt it,” the man said, looking Aziraphale up and down. “Strange name for a shop,” he continued, looking around at the books on the shelves. “Ay _zee_ fell.”

Aziraphale’s face fell slightly. “That’s A. Z. Fell. That’s me. It’s my _name_.”

“Why would Gabriel name his shop after you?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips in annoyance. “He _didn’t_. It’s _my_ shop.”

“When is Gabriel going to be back?”

“Oh, he likely won’t drop by for at least the rest of the month, I’m afraid. Could I give him a message for you?”

“That’s a shame. I had heard there were some rare first editions here.”

“Perhaps I could be of service, then?” Aziraphale smiled politely.

“Oh, are you helping run things for him while he’s out?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes to gather strength. “This is _my_ shop,” he repeated.

“I’ll just wait for Gabriel to come back.”

“Gabriel is regrettably unavailable for the foreseeable future," Aziraphale said, curtly, "As I’ve told you, and you’re inquiring about _my_ inventory, not his.”

“Still, I feel like he’ll be better equipped to help me," the man said, turning the tchotchke in his hand upside down without looking at him.

Aziraphale quickly took the item from the man's hands, placing it back down on the shelf. “In _my_ shop? With _my_ inventory?” Aziraphale was good and irritated now. “You _are_ aware, aren’t you, that he doesn’t _actually_ work here? I allow him space to store a few things, and we help one another out here and there, but this isn’t—”

“I’ll just check back for him later.” The man’s face brightened suddenly. “Ah, that looks like someone who could help me,” he said.

Aziraphale turned around to see the young man he hired to work part-time in the shop walking towards them. “Ah, yes, yes.” Aziraphale said with a bit of a Cheshire grin. “Newt, this gentleman here has a few questions above my pay grade, I’m afraid.”

Newt’s eyebrows furrowed. “But this is _your_ —”

“Yes, yes,” Aziraphale quickly responded, patting him on the back. “We’ve covered all of that already. I’ll just be checking inventory if you need me.”

Aziraphale closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh. It was old hat to have to continually explain that yes, he was fully capable of doing his own job. _Yes_ , he _had_ spent half an entire century living his own life. _No_ , he neither _had_ , nor did he _require_ someone more capable to hold his hand and guide him through it. He was _dreadfully_ tired of these interactions They only served to remind him of how lonely he truly was.

It was times like these when he missed Crowley. Missing Crowley came with a whole list of conflicting emotions, especially considering they had only known one another for such a short time before they had their falling out.

What had it even been about, anyway? The more he thought about it, the more he thought it couldn’t have been what was on the surface. Surely, there was some deeper meaning behind it all.

He knew there had been for _himself_ , anyway.

Aziraphale was pulled from his mental meanderings when the door opened.

“Aziraphale, could you come out here and help me for a moment?” Newt said, popping his head in. “I can’t find this book in the system to get the price for the man out here.”

“And you _won’t_ find it if I have anything to say about it,” Aziraphale said under his breath as he got up from his chair. He plastered on his best customer-service-with-disdain smile and stepped out of the backroom.

Aziraphale scanned the UPC label on the protective wrapper around the book. He pouted condescendingly, tutting when an error kept showing on the screen.

“You can’t get it to work, either?” The man said with irritation. “Gabriel must really have his hands full with the two of you.”

Newt, wide-eyed as he looked between the non-customer and Aziraphale, smiled uncomfortably.

Aziraphale laughed a tiny, hollow laugh, waving his hand helplessly in the air. “Well, I suppose that’s that, then,” Aziraphale said. “I’m afraid I can’t help you _at all_.” Tucking the book underneath his arm, he walked back towards the Employees Only door. He turned around briefly before opening it. “Mind how you go,” he said, closing the door behind him.

In the past eight months since the situation with Bychance, Crowley had managed to bounce back, in a professional and financial sense, better than before. When word got out, initially, about his downfall, many people had approached him thinking he would take less out of desperation.

They were correct, _technically_ , but not entirely for the reasons they assumed.

Crowley made up for the lower payment rates with a higher quantity of jobs, and in the process, working himself harder than ever before. He barely had time to think. After a few months, he was able to pick and choose more, earning a higher price, but he still took on several smaller clients who couldn’t pay as well.

It felt good to help someone out. That was the excuse he told himself.

Crowley stayed busy even after he had made back much of what was stolen from him because he _needed_ to stay busy. That was what brought him to this particular auction today, in fact. The quest for the impossible, The Nice and Accurate Prophesies of Agnes Nutter. Normally, he wouldn’t step foot in a place of worship, but this old church had been gutted of nearly everything but the windows and walls to turn it into the auction house it was today. There had been much talk about rarities, lost artifacts, paintings, and mysterious one-of-a-kind items, including several books of prophecy.

At this point, Crowley would have done anything to keep from thinking about how badly he had screwed things up with Aziraphale.

He’d do anything not to think about Aziraphale _at all_.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, his voice wavering as he rounded a corner only to duck back quickly. _Of course you’d be here,_ he thought to himself. _I’m so stupid._

It was rather unfortunate that the exit was on the other side of Aziraphale and the two people next to him. Leaning back to stay out of sight, Crowley diverted his attention to listening in to hear when it was safe enough to leave. He noticed that they were speaking in German while Aziraphale stood there, obviously trying to ignore them.

“You fooled the shithead bookseller. Good job, darling,” the man next to Aziraphale said.

“It wasn’t hard, darling,” the woman with him replied. “He’s _very_ gullible.”

Crowley, from his otherwise unseen corner of the alcove, gritted his teeth at the exchange. He watched with growing rage as Aziraphale smiled uncomfortably at the couple saying terrible things about him. The _audacity_ of those two to say such rude things _at all,_ let alone _right in front_ of Aziraphale, albeit in German, tore through Crowley.

Crowley already couldn’t stand them. They had crossed paths many times in the past, and Crowley was well-aware of how they worked. While he might snipe an auction here and there, it was to offer to an existing client of his own who might be interested in it, or else add it to his showroom. That was fair play, because that was what an auction was for. It was a competition for a prize. The average bidder had an existing client in mind, or saw value in a specific item. These people, however, were something else entirely. They were _poachers_ , and they were _ruthless_.

Glozier and Kleinschmidt would go out, using any means necessary to insinuate themselves into auctions, trade deals, and the like. They knew nothing about craftsmanship, value, rarity, or anything else imperative to the business. Instead, they sniffed around, picking up bits of conversation here and there to reap the benefits of the research and work others had done sourcing specific items. They would then gather all the information they could, feeding it back to Harmony, who then began scouting trade channels online for the specific items, often finding the exact clients who had requested them to begin with, along with a basic idea of monetary value. Once Harmony had confirmed who the buyer was and a price range, Glozier and Kleinschmidt redoubled their efforts and went in for the kill. They’d swoop in and obtain the item right underneath their mark’s nose and move on to the next target.

 _Well, then_ , Crowley thought. _Two can play this game._ Now that he had listened long enough, he knew their current mark was Aziraphale, and he knew what was on their current list.

Crowley realized he needed to do two things. Stay hidden from both the Germans and Aziraphale, and get those books regardless of how he had to go about it. He’d figure out how to get them anonymously to Aziraphale later.

Crowley followed them around, careful to stay out of sight of anyone other than the auctioneers, who were accustomed to the way Crowley often hung back behind or off to the side of everyone else in a room during an auction. It gave him a better vantage point in a crowd without having to visibly divert his attention. Those familiar with him did not question this. Those unfamiliar didn’t realize there was reason _to_ question anything at all.

After the book auctions had already completed and all that was left were art and other assorted items, Crowley decided the best way to avoid being found was to settle up and leave. As stealthily as possible, he snaked his way through the halls towards the cashier’s station, ducking between aisles and into alcoves here and there as needed purely to avoid unnecessary conversations. Specifically, today, he was avoiding Germans and an angel.

Hearing someone nearby, he quickly skittered behind a bookshelf. Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. There Aziraphale was, standing over a table of books and antiques next to the stained-glass windows of the repurposed cathedral-turned-auction house. Between the sunlight filtering in through the colored glass and the spotlights overhead, Aziraphale was haloed, hair lit up in rainbows, and glowing angelic as anything.

In an attempt to get a closer look, Crowley tripped, coming down on his ankle hard as he stumbled out from behind the bookshelf and into the aisle.

“Ow! Ow, ow, sorry! Ow!”

Aziraphale turned around, illuminated still by the light filtering through the stained-glass window. “Hello,” Aziraphale said quietly with a hint of a sad smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

“Hey,” Crowley said softly, clearing his throat and wincing as he hobbled closer. No use hiding now, he thought.

Neither one knowing quite what to say, the two stood there, quietly, simply appreciating that the other was in front of them after all this time. Well, Aziraphale stood still, anyway, as he watched Crowley shifting back and forth trying not to put too much weight on his ankle.

Aziraphale was the first to break the silence. “What are you doing here?” He asked gently.

“With so many books of prophecy listed,” Crowley answered, leaning over against a table, “I thought I might have found a lead on that Agnes Nutter, actually. I—"

“Anthony J. Crowley,” Glozier said, interrupting as he walked over. “Your reputation precedes you. A little birdie tells me you’ve managed to obtain all the books we needed.”

“Oh, I should have _known_ ,” Aziraphale said, anger and embarrassment competing against one another in his facial expression. “These people are working for _you_.”

“No!” Crowley’s eyebrows shot up in shock. “They’re just a bunch of half-witted German vultures running about London blackmailing, cheating, and stealing clients,” Crowley said. _I just didn’t want to see you embarrassed_ , he thought.

“The famous Mr. Crowley,” Kleinschmidt said as she approached. “It’s very odd how you happen to have clients looking for _exactly_ what we’ve been looking for today.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from the likes you lot,” Crowley snorted, pointing between them with disdain. “But those aren’t for any of _my_ clients,” Crowley said. “I just didn’t want _you_ to have them.”

Crowley turned away from the Germans as if they were no longer there, speaking instead to Aziraphale again. “It’s been awhile.”

“It _has_ , rather,” Aziraphale replied.

“You know, I almost didn’t recognize you with long hair.”

Aziraphale groaned softly. “My barber has been away. I tried going to someone else at first.” Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed. “I had to wear a hat for a fortnight. I just haven’t felt up to risking it again, and this is the result.” He shrugged, pointing to his hair and rolling his eyes to look away.

“You don’t like it?” Crowley pouted, tilting his head to the side. “I think it suits you.”

Aziraphale’s eyes darted towards Crowley. “I didn’t say that. I’ll get used to it.” He looked away again, blushing slightly while suppressing a small smile.

“Enough babbling,” Glozier said with irritation. “We aren’t done here.”

“Maybe not, not yet. But if you insist upon continuing to bother my friend and I, you _will_ be done when I’ve finished with you,” Crowley said, visibly annoyed at his conversation with an angel being interrupted yet again.

“What does that mean?” Kleinschmidt asked.

“What it _means_ ,” Crowley began to explain, ”Is that anything you can do, I can do _better_. But _unlike_ you, I already have a book of clients, and enough work of my own that I would be able to make a _hobby_ of following you around, just to interfere with your little collectible safaris. In fact, it might build up a little extra goodwill for me, working something out with the people you’ve cheated out of their items. I’d offer them back at whatever price I myself paid. _In fact_ ,” Crowley grinned wickedly with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “I might even be willing to take a _loss_ just to amuse myself and _piss you off_.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Glozier asked with skepticism

“I expect I don’t _care_ ,” Crowley said with a shrug before turning back to Aziraphale.

Glozier continued to glare, not taking his eyes off of Crowley as he offered his elbow to Kleinschmidt. Arm in arm, the pair turned to leave.

“That was very kind of you,” Aziraphale said, watching as Glozier and Kleinschmidt angrily stalked away.

“Shut up,” Crowley said, cleaning his glasses off before putting them back on with a satisfied smirk.

“Well, it _was_ ,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve never particularly liked them.”

“Understandably. They’re not _particularly likable_ ,” Crowley said with a playful shrug.

“Oh, the books!” Aziraphale said. “I forgot all about the books. I didn’t manage to get a _single_ thing I needed today.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow as he motioned towards the cashier’s station. _No point in being anonymous now_ , he thought. “Are you certain of that?”

“I didn’t win a single auction,” Aziraphale said as they walked together towards the service window.

“ _I did_ ,” Crowley said, nonchalantly handing his documentation to the cashier. “Bit of a _miracle_ , really.”

It took a moment for Aziraphale to properly understand the inference to which Crowley was implying. “You _must_ allow me to pay you.”

“There may come a time, in the future, where I might ask of you a favor,” Crowley sighed, leaning against the ledge of the service window as he smiled softly at Aziraphale. “A book for a client, as an example.”

“Oh, I can assure you,” Aziraphale shook his head vehemently, “I won’t be parting with _any_ of my rare books without thoroughly vetting the client first.”

Crowley shook his head with a laugh as the cashier returned his card. “Anyway, don’t worry about all of that. It’s my treat. I wanted to do it. You didn’t ask me for this,” Crowley said, putting his wallet back into his jacket pocket with an amused smile. A few minutes later, an attendant came out through a side door and presented Crowley with a bag. “I _don’t_ need your money,” Crowley explained, turning back towards Aziraphale. “But _you_ _do_ need these books,” he said, holding out the bag he had just paid for.

“I don’t need someone to take care of me,” Aziraphale bristled. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Crowley blinked a few times from behind his glasses, his arm lowering slightly as he processed this. Something about Aziraphale’s words felt uncomfortably familiar. “No, you _don’t_ need someone to take care of you,” he began, not _entirely_ certain of why Aziraphale had suddenly become upset, but hoping he was on the right track to remedy it somehow. “You are quite _obviously_ capable. You knew what you were after, and you tracked it down here. The Germans were a variable. Just because they showed up and said… “ His voice trailed off as his eyes narrowed.

“What did they say, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, his eyebrows raised slightly.

Crowley sighed, shaking his head. “Well, that’s,” he scowled, not wanting to burden Aziraphale with the rude things the Germans had said. It would likely have been more upsetting than any good it might have done. “That’s unimportant. You don’t need to worry about that. But the _point_ is, even if you’re the most capable, put together person in all of the universe, sometimes it’s nice have someone on your side when things go pear-shaped.”

Aziraphale considered this, ultimately agreeing with a slight nod as an understanding began to blossom. He accepted the bag of books from Crowley’s outstretched arm. As their fingers brushed, the blossoming understanding became a lush garden of gay panic and existential dread.

“Lift home?” Crowley asked with a wry grin as he sauntered towards the exit.

 _Oh_ , Aziraphale thought. _That’s what this is, then, is it?_ He stood there, dumbfounded as he watched Crowley’s analog of walking. _We haven’t spoken in eight months, and you just come stumbling back into my life as if nothing at all had happened._ Aziraphale quickly tamped down the feelings that had risen up from his stomach and into his throat on butterfly wings.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, rushing to catch up with Crowley, who was already halfway down the corridor. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I must decline.”

Crowley stopped, but did not turn around. His body tensed in an attempt to keep his face expressionless.

“I’ve already made other arrangements for this afternoon, you see,” Aziraphale said, looking down at the bag in his hands. “But perhaps you might be free for lunch sometime soon?” His eyebrows lifted as he quickly added, “Purely as a, as a gesture of my appreciation, of course.”

Shoulders relaxing, Crowley turned around, grateful for the shielding of his dark glasses that concealed what he was _certain_ was an emotional journey in his eyes.

“I _do_ understand if you’re too—”

“I could move some things around,” Crowley answered quickly before Aziraphale could talk himself out of whatever it was he intended to pursue with lunch, even if it was simply a thanks for a business arrangement _. I’d move Heaven and Earth if you asked_ , Crowley thought. “Are you free tomorrow?”

Aziraphale immediately regretted agreeing to a luncheon meeting with Gabriel for the next day. “Um, no, I’m afraid I’m busy tomorrow. How about Friday?”

“Anything you like,” Crowley said, unable to stop the fond from coloring his voice.

“So, what’s the problem, then?” Gabriel asked, stabbing his fork into a tomato wedge and eyeing the bleu cheese dressing next to Aziraphale’s plate longingly.

Aziraphale huffed out a laugh and swapped his dressing for the cup of vinaigrette next to Gabriel’s plate.

“Oh, _bless you_ ,” Gabriel said gratefully, dipping his tomato. “Don’t tell Bea, though. I’ll never hear the end of it.” He closed his eyes as he took a bite, chewing with a little moan of joy. “So good. God, I’ve missed _flavor_.”

“Surely she’s not _that_ strict, is she?” Aziraphale asked, drizzling the dressing over his own salad.

“She’s just scared, I think,” Gabriel said, dipping the tines of his fork into the dressing before stabbing at another bite. “She knows my family’s history of cancer. Ever since I had to have that bit in my prostate taken out last month, she’s been determined that I eat better and exercise more.”

“Didn’t the two of you ride bicycles everywhere?”

“Mmm,” Gabe said, covering his mouth with a napkin as he finished chewing and swallowed. “Can’t do that anymore. Something about the seat. I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Apparently, I jog now. You should come with some time.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe,” Aziraphale said. “I stay so _busy_ , you know.”

Gabriel grinned at him with an affectionate, familial laugh. “Yeah, I know. Like how you’re busy bribing me with contraband salad dressing and not answering my original question.”

“I’m certain I don’t know what you mean by that,” Aziraphale said, looking down at the table.

“And I’m certain you _do_. What is the problem with this guy?”

Aziraphale had a pained look on his face as he fretted, tugging at the napkin in his hands. “Gabriel he’s _gorgeous_ , and chiseled and sleek, and I’m _soft_. People who look like _him_ don’t notice people who look like _me_ —”

“Aziraphale—”

“And I don’t know _what_ he was thinking trying to invite me to have lunch today, because—"

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel exclaimed loud enough to startle Aziraphale along with a few other restaurant patrons. “Okay, one, you have got to stop putting yourself down like that. There is nothing wrong with the way you look. And two, what do you mean he wanted to have lunch with you today? Why are you here if that’s the case?”

“I already had plans with you.”

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel sighed, reaching out to put his hand on top of Aziraphale’s. “You have my blanket permission to blow off a lunch with me if that happens again. And not just lunch, either. Just let me know and it’s fine, really.”

“But you hate when people cancel on you,” Aziraphale reminded him. “And I haven’t seen you in a month! Not since you got out of the hospital.”

“Yeah, I know. And I appreciate you covering for me with the webstore while Bea had me on recuperation lockdown.” Gabriel looked at Aziraphale in solemn seriousness. “But I’m tired of you being unhappy and alone.”

“I’m _so_ glad we’re _friends_ ,” Aziraphale said sarcastically.

“Ugh, yeah,” Gabriel shook his head at himself. “Yeah, that sounded bad. But I just mean I want you to be _happy_. I want you to be as happy as I am.”

“You’re hiding condiments from your wife.”

“Because she _loves_ me. I want that for you, too. Maybe not _specifically_ that part, but having someone who actually gives enough of a damn to research what you can and can’t do after prostate cancer, or yells at you for forgetting to change the toilet roll, or—”

“You know, you really _should_ change the toilet roll when you use the last of it. I’ve always disliked that about you.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “You’re doing it again. Stop deflecting. We’re not talking about me. This is about you. _You_ need someone that encourages you to get out and _live_.”

“What if I don’t want that?”

“That would be _fine_ , if that were _true_.” Gabriel put his fork down and leaned back in his chair. He looked Aziraphale up and down with tight lips, huffing a small breath through his nose. “But I know better. I’ve known you practically forever.” He took a sip of water before continuing. “Do you think this one is like some of the others you’ve dated?”

Aziraphale sighed heavily and looked down at his plate. “No.”

“Do you think he’s going to ignore you except when he’s trying to push you around?”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“Do you think he’s going to make jokes at your expense to make himself look good?”

“No, actually, he, he _defended_ me when someone else had.”

“Oh?”

“Um, yesterday, at, at the auction. Glozier was there.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Oh, I can’t stand him.”

“Neither can I,” Aziraphale replied with a lift of his brow. “Anyway, his girlfriend was there and you know how they are, just talking about everyone in German as if it’s some sort of secret spy code.”

“What else is new?” Gabriel asked with a grin.

Aziraphale’s hands went up in a shrug. “Anyway,” he continued, “Apparently, Crowley overheard them talking about me, and followed them around, outbidding on everything they were interested in whether he needed it or not, just to annoy them.”

“What?” Gabriel laughed.

“I asked him why, but all he would say was that he didn’t like what _they_ had to say, and for me not to worry about it.”

“What _did_ they say?” Gabriel asked.

“Well, for one, they called me a shithead bookseller.”

Gabriel winced. “Well, look at the source,” he said. “So, this sorta-kinda new guy wouldn’t tell you what they said about you that upset him. Does this guy know you speak German, too?”

Aziraphale smiled in spite of himself. “No, I don’t believe he does.”

“Well, I like him,” Gabriel said, picking his fork up again. “Now, if there’s a _real_ problem with this guy, by all means, I’ll let it drop. But if the _only_ thing standing between you and a chance at being happy is this warped sense of self you seem to have going on, I’m going to argue with you about that every chance I get.” Gabriel pointed his fork at Aziraphale. “And it sounds like he might, too,” he said, taking a bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Miel_Petite for inspiring Aziraphale's look with [this post. ](https://mielpetite.tumblr.com/post/616517867053154304/my-apple-pen-arrived-and-i-proceeded-to-make-this)


	4. Disappointed Cricket Fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some kind of porridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Drunken shenanigans.
> 
> Special thanks to [Miel Petite](https://mielpetite.tumblr.com/) for the gorgeous art in this chapter!

As the days turned to weeks, Crowley and Aziraphale continued to get together, at least once or twice a week, for a meal here and there. Though they found they were just as comfortable now as they had been before, neither of them seemed to have been able to _successfully_ bring up the subject of dating without something interfering, or yet another miscommunication. After a month, though they were becoming nearly inseparable, they were both all but convinced the other no longer had any interest in pursuing anything further than friendship.

Unlike the romance that was seemingly over before it had begun, their business relationship was turning out better than either of them had expected.

“Oh!” Aziraphale said, rushing over to the register where Newt was trying to ring up a book for Crowley. “I didn’t realize you’d be here so soon,” Aziraphale smiled at Crowley before turning to Newt. “I see you found my note that this was to be held specifically for Mr. Crowley.”

Newt nodded while trying to twist his wrist to scan the code from another angle. “I can’t get this one to ring up,” Newt said. “I always seen to have trouble with the really old ones for some reason.”

Aziraphale flustered slightly. “That’s quite all right, dear boy,“ Aziraphale said. “Why don’t you go on and take your break? This is my… This is my _friend_. I’ll take care of him.”

Crowley had hoped no one else noticed the way his heart began to race at Aziraphale’s pause. _Friend. Right, right, of course._

“Right,” Newt said, walking towards the back. “I suppose now is as good a time as any for a sandwich.”

“Oh, yes. Your mother makes the most delightful sandwiches. Please send her my thanks. You’ll find I’ve washed her travel dish and it’s ready for you to return to her.”

Newt smiled. “I’m sure she’ll be most appreciative.”

Once Newt had left the salesfloor, Aziraphale put on a ridiculous little set of glasses and looked at the UPC on the protective film wrapped around the book.

“Are those strictly necessary?” Crowley huffed with an affectionate laugh.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, squinting at the numbers on the book as he typed them in. “When you’re my age, you’ll understand.”

“Wh-” Crowley scoffed, unable to fully form his protest. “You—“

“Hush, now, I’m concentrating.”

Crowley, looking between the UPC code and Aziraphale’s fingers on the keypad, noticed that instead of a six at the end of the number, Aziraphale keyed in a four.

“You typed the wrong number for that last one,” Crowley said, pointing.

“Shh,” Aziraphale calmly shushed him. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did,” Crowley loudly whispered. “I just saw it.”

Aziraphale leaned back to glance towards the door to the back room. “ _No_ ,” he repeated. “I _didn’t_.”

Crowley looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

“I have a _system_ ,” Aziraphale explained quietly as he rung the book up in the computer without hassle.

“A system? Really?”

“I, um, I custom label the rare books so they won’t ring up in the computer.”

“You _what_?” Crowley asked, wide-eyed.

“Crowley, I’ve _told_ you, I don’t want just anyone walking off with one of my first editions.”

“And so you’ve sabotaged your sales.”

“No, I haven’t sabotaged anything I’m willing to sell outright. I’ve simply ensured that I have final say in who does, or does _not_ , take my _rare_ books home with them.” Aziraphale grinned impishly. “I have a _code_ , and only _I_ know the cipher.”

“Do you subtract two from the last number, or do you add eight and loop back around??”

Aziraphale’s face fell. He smiled curtly with an irritated huff of breath. “I had no idea I was dealing with a _code-breaker.”_

“That boy you've got working for you thinks he doesn't know what he's doing!"

"It's fine. He's... It's _fine,_ " Aziraphale said. "I hired him because he's a nice young man, not for his skill with computers."

"Does Gabe know you do this?”

“No,” Aziraphale said primly, cutting his eyes up at Crowley. “And I’d like it to _stay_ that way.”

Something about that sent shivers down Crowley’s spine. He was somehow simultaneously terrified and _fascinated_ by Aziraphale’s tone just then. He _hoped_ to be threatened in this way again.

“Listen,” Crowley said, looking at the book. “My client isn’t going to be available to receive this book until this weekend. I’m only here now because I’ve literally nothing better to do. Could I tempt you to a spot of lunch?”

“Temptation accomplished,” Aziraphale said with a grin. “I just need to wait for Newt to finish his break, and then we can go.”

“I’d really rather not carry this around. Would you mind locking it up for me?”

“Of course, it’s not a problem.”

Once Newt had returned, Aziraphale informed him that he would be heading out for the afternoon, giving Newt permission to close up the shop a couple of hours early, if he wanted to, whether Aziraphale had returned yet or not.

Aziraphale and Crowley walked to one of the bistros Aziraphale often frequented on his breaks. It was nice, cozy, and they always had fresh, homemade cake.

Unable to resist his curiosity, Crowley had begun asking questions about Aziraphale’s dirty little secret.

“There’s something _special_ about a first edition, you see,” Aziraphale explained with a gleam in his eye. “Each book, even from the same printing, can tell an individual story. If something were to happen to that book, that part of history, that _legacy_ left behind by each previous owner, would be lost to the ages.”

“So you protect them, then,” Crowley mused fondly. “Some sort of principality, presiding over and guarding the books at the East end of Soho.”

Aziraphale scoffed, a hint of a smile tugging at his lip. “I suppose you could say that.”

“I’m curious. How _does_ one make a living, if you don’t mind my asking, _not_ _selling_ books in a bookshop?”

“Oh, I still sell regular inventory, of course, newer items, both online and in the store.” Aziraphale explained.

“You _do_ seem to do well enough for yourself,” Crowley nodded. “That’s why it seemed a bit strange that you could just _not_ sell books and still close up shop early.”

“It’s not necessarily _glamorous_ , but I do all right,” Aziraphale said. “I’m comfortable. As far as my own requirements go, I don’t need much, really.”

“Now, I don’t believe that. You’re quite picky. I mean that as a compliment, of course. You don’t settle for less.”

Aziraphale bit his tongue not to argue that. There was no point in it, nothing to accomplish by debating that, so instead, he continued with his original point.

“Spend a little more up front for quality, and one can get something that lasts longer without needing to be replaced. It saves money in the long run, providing one keeps up with it.” He ran his hand along his sleeve. “Have you any idea how long I’ve had this coat?”

“I do _not_ , but I can tell it’s older than _you_ are,” Crowley said, lifting his cup to his lips to finish the coffee inside.

“And I’ve kept it in tip-top condition from the moment I obtained it, years ago.” Aziraphale said proudly. He could have sworn he saw a grin trying to fight its way across Crowley’s face. He wanted very much to be the reason that grin eventually won.

Aziraphale thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I take care of what is important to me,” he said, pouring more coffee from the carafe into Crowley’s empty cup. Internally, he nervously hoped he remembered how Crowley had prepared his coffee earlier in the meal. Externally, he boldly added one sugar and a dash of milk, stirring it confidently with a spoon before sliding it back over to Crowley.

“Thank you,” Crowley said, lifting one eyebrow as he reached for the fresh cup.

Aziraphale let out a quiet hum when Crowley’s grin broke free as he lifted the cup to his lips. It was a simple thing, really, but oh, so satisfying.

As the day grew later, they returned to the empty bookshop, retiring to the back room, as they often did, to drink and discuss random nonsense.

“Bit difficult sometimes, finding ways to bring ducks up in conversation,” Crowley said. “But there are so many fascinating facts, you know?” Crowley took a deep drink from his glass. “I can rise to the challenge, even with the obscure facts.”

“Like long corkscrew dicks on ducks,” Aziraphale added helpfully.

“Yeah, like that. That, too. Harder to work in.”

“On account of the curvature, I’d assume,” Aziraphale said, casually.

Crowley looked up. “What?”

“The,” Aziraphale began, tracing a winding corkscrew in the air with a finger. “The curvature of the duck’s penis. I’d imagine it’s a bit hit or miss, trying to….” Aziraphale squinted, the tip of his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth as he was trying to poke his curved finger into the neck of the wine bottle.

Crowley’s hand came up to cover the side of his face, as he didn’t know what else to do in that moment.

Otherwise unable to hit his mark, Aziraphale sighed in defeat, lowering the bottle. “D’you suppose that’s why they wiggle their tails?”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “ _What_?” He repeated.

Aziraphale started to shake his head. “Oh, never mind that.”

Gabriel and Bea were throwing a party and had asked Aziraphale to invite Crowley. Aziraphale texted Crowley the address, explaining that he would be going early to help them set up. Crowley had not officially met anyone in Aziraphale's life other than Newt, having only heard stories from Aziraphale himself.

Crowley stood before the door, wine in hand. He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, and knocked.

The door swung open revealing a petite brunette with a scowl. “Are you Crowley?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Is Aziraphale here yet?”

"Have you had your prostate checked?"

“Um,” Crowley looked around helplessly. “I, uh, I brought wine.”

“Answer my question,” the woman asked with an intense, icy-blue stare. “When was the last time you had your prostate checked?”

“What?” Crowley asked, thrown off guard by the question once again. “Prostate? I don’t… Is it a _sex thing_?" Crowley squeaked out, awkwardly.

"No, you twit. I'm talking about your _health._ "

"Bea! _Stand down_ ,” Gabriel said, wide-eyed as he and Aziraphale rushed over. “You're gonna scare him off."

"He needs to _know_ ,” Bea said, eyes still on Crowley as Gabriel attempted to guide her back over to the other side of the room. “We’re not done talking about this,” she said. “And that goes for you, too, Aziraphale,” she said, pointing at him menacingly.

Crowley turned a wide-eyed look of relief towards Aziraphale. “What was _that_?”

“That was Bea,” Aziraphale said with a laugh, taking the wine bottle from Crowley’s hand to guide him into the kitchen. “She can be a bit intense at times, but it’s only because she cares. She’s currently on a mission. Best to do as she says and not get in the way.” Aziraphale placed the bottle on the worktop before leaning against it, eyes roving up Crowley’s dark vermillion Henley that hugged his waist and flared out slightly at the hips, then back down his painted on dark denims. “You look nice,” Aziraphale said quietly, pouring two glasses of wine from a bottle already open.

“Yeah? Thanks,” Crowley said, looking down as if he was previously unaware of what he was wearing. “I wasn’t certain of the dress code, so I improvised.”

“You did a good job,” Aziraphale said, biting his lip.

They stood face to face, sipping their wine while darting glances back and forth at one another for a minute before Gabriel came into the kitchen.

“I am so sorry about that,” he said. “Bea has been on high alert ever since I was in the hospital. You’ll have to forgive her. It’s easier this way, for her to focus on things that give her a sense of control,” Gabriel explained, reaching for the wine bottle to refill his own glass. “And she’s not _wrong_ about getting it checked, even if she’s a bit abrupt.”

Crowley nodded. He could appreciate that sort of thing. “I’ll look into it,” he said. “Obviously, I won’t be having my prostate checked _tonight_ —”

Both Gabriel and Crowley turned to see Aziraphale putting his half-full wineglass down, coughing and wiping his mouth. “Sorry,” he managed to choke out. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

The party continued into the evening as more people arrived. More people meant more food. Aziraphale and Gabriel were in charge of beverages, fruits, and veggies, while Bea handled the hot items.

“My T-Ravs!” Gabriel exclaimed with horror as he looked down at the plate Bea had placed out on the buffet table next to the vegetable tray he just brought out.

“What? Speak English,” Aziraphale said, looking confused.

“I’m speaking _Missouri_ ,” Gabriel said testily, glancing around to see who was looking. “These are my favorite thing in the world. Toasted ravioli.”

Crowley furrowed his brows. “What’s that?”

Gabriel’s face practically lit up. “See, you take a ravioli, right, and you bread it, and then deep fry it and serve it with parmesan and tomato sauce.” Gabriel inhaled through his teeth, his eyes practically rolled into the back of his head just talking about it. “You should try some,” he said, loading up two plates, handing them over to Aziraphale and Crowley. “I just… I just want a _few_ of them before they’re all gone. Help me keep an eye out,” he said, starting a third plate for himself as his eyes darted around the room in search of a small, but _powerful_ , adversary.

“ _Excuse_ you!”

“Speak of the devil,” Gabe winced as their eyes locked. He was caught ravioli-handed.

Bea rushed over. “Those are for _guests_ , not for _you_. Put them _back_.”

“But my T-Ravs,” Gabriel said sadly, puppy-dog-eyed as he handed the plate to Bea, who rearranged them on the platter, reloading the plate with baby carrots and cherry tomatoes to hand back to her husband.

“What have we talked about?” Bea asked, standing toe to toe and nose to chest.

“We do not sully,” Gabriel rolled his eyes.

“ _Say it.”_

Gabriel sighed in the most put-upon manner he could possibly muster. “We do not sully the temple of our celestial bodies with _gross matter,"_ he said, shaking his head side to side patronizingly as he did so.

Bea’s face brightened into a megawatt smile as she stood on her tiptoes, tugging the front of his shirt gently to bring him down long enough to kiss the tip of his nose. “Thank you, babe,” she said. Gabriel smiled back at her, giving her a quick peck on the lips before she walked away to greet the next guests to arrive.

“Why is there so much food here you’re not allowed to eat? Is she trying to torture you?” Crowley asked quietly after she stepped away.

“No,” Gabriel groaned with a sigh. “She’s trying to clean out the freezer and the pantry. That’s why we’re having this party.”

“You had enough junk food in your freezer to necessitate a party to rid yourself of it?”

“You haven’t tasted them yet.”

“Why serve them, though?”

“She doesn’t want any of it to go to waste, but she wants to remove the temptation, she said. This is hard for her, too.”

“Is it, though?” Crowley asked, skeptically.

“Yeah.” Gabriel sighed with an amused smile. “Look, I know you don’t know us yet, but she’s really not this stereotypical hen-pecker. We’re doing all of this _together_. I’m just complaining about it more, and she’s doing her part to be strong for me,” he said, quickly stealing a ravioli from Crowley’s plate and popping it in his mouth.

“Because you clearly need it,” Aziraphale laughed quietly.

Gabriel nodded as he finished chewing and swallowing. “I _really_ do.”

“Mr. Aziraphale!” A woman’s voice trilled from across the room.

Crowley and Aziraphale both turned their heads towards the sound.

“Ah, Tracy!” Aziraphale greeted as he walked towards her. “Always a pleasure,” he said, reaching out to take her hand. A static spark arced from his fingertips to the inside of her palm as they touched.

“Oh, made me go all tingly!” She said, looking up and down at Aziraphale.

Crowley’s eyes darted between the woman and Aziraphale.

“Oh, aren’t you looking so fresh and vibrant tonight,” Tracy said, cooing over Aziraphale. “All rosy-cheeked and lovely. What’s got such a spring in your step, love?”

 _Excuse me_ , Crowley thought loudly enough to startle the dogs across the street, _but would you be a dear and **not** flirt with him in front of me, please? Wait until I’m not looking if you can’t stop yourself. And I get why you might not be able to. I mean, he’s **obviously** stunning._

Tracy smiled, placing her hand on Aziraphale’s forearm as they continued to chat.

“No, really. _Stop_ ,” Crowley said out loud, accidentally.

“I’m sorry, what was that, love?” Tracy asked as everyone’s eyes turned to Crowley.

“Eh, erm, uh,” Crowley replied eloquently as he shook his head and turned around to awkwardly saunter away.

Aziraphale’s phone vibrated. Though normally he was loathed to have his mobile on during a meal, he did check it during lunches with Crowley when the shop was open. They both understood that business-hours meant business-related calls could happen, and both of their jobs meant if they didn’t answer a call, a deal or rare item could go to someone else. Aziraphale looked down at his phone to read the message. He laughed and put the phone away.

“What? What’s so funny?” Crowley asked, his curiosity piqued.

Aziraphale waved his hand and shook his head with a laugh. “It’s just Bea asking if I’ve made an appointment to have my prostate checked.”

“ _Have_ you?”

Aziraphale looked at him with surprise.

“She’s quite frightening,” Crowley explained. “I’ve already had mine.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in amusement. “You have _not_.”

“I _have_ ,” Crowley said. “Just this week, in fact.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, “If you _must_ know, while I haven’t gone _in_ yet, I _have_ made the appointment for the next time I go in for my regular screenings.”

“Screenings?” Crowley inquired in a higher pitch than normal, quickly finishing off the coffee in his cup.

“Oh, _you know_ ,” Aziraphale replied, lifting his own cup. “Cholesterol, blood pressure... _STIs_ ,” he said, clearing his throat against the rim of his cup as he took a sip.

“Ah,” Crowley said, leaning back with a half-nod.

“Oh, I haven’t necessarily _needed_ to in recent months, but at one point in my life…” Aziraphale’s voice trailed off as he looked off to the side. With a small shake of his head, he turned his gaze back to Crowley. “I suppose I simply got into the _habit_ of testing every few months.”

“I do something similar, actually,” Crowley said, his brows lightly furrowed in thought as he poured more coffee, adding milk and sugar, “For similar reasons. It’s always nice to receive a clean bill of health.” He picked up his cup, swirling it slightly before taking a sip. “Not that there’s likely to be any _surprises_ on this one.”

“Surprises?” Aziraphale asked, an eyebrow raised along with the pitch of his voice, ever-so-much the same as Crowley had only moments before.

“Let’s just say I considered sending my doctor flowers after my exam.”

Aziraphale put his cup down on the table so he wouldn’t spill it with his laughter.

“It’s not _that_ funny,” Crowley said, looking away casually. “I’ve been like a lovesick teenager waiting for him to call me back for my next appointment.”

Aziraphale shook his head as he huffed a quiet laugh through his nose.

“Seriously, I’ve picked out new knickers and everything.”

“Idiot,” Aziraphale whispered under his breath as he rolled his eyes with a grin.

“Hello?” Aziraphale said into the bookshop phone.

“Aziraphale, it’s me," Crowley said. "There’s an auction in Edinburgh. It has several things I believe you’d be interested in. I’ve sent you a link to your email.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale said, pulling his mobile from his pocket to check. “Oh!” He said, seeing a few titles he had mentioned looking for in passing. “Oh, yes, I rather think I _am_ interested. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I’ll definitely be there. Will you be going as well? We could make a day of it.”

“Be a bit of a waste, wouldn’t it? Both of us going to Edinburgh? I’m afraid I can’t. But, if you happen to be going _anyway_ , perhaps you might be willing to do me a favor and pick up a few items for me? I’ve listed them at the bottom of the email. I’ll provide the payment, of course.”

“Why _can’t_ you go?”

“Mmm,” Crowley made a few noises into the phone. “Not important. Can you do it for me? There might just be a couple of tickets to Hamlet involved.”

“Are you attempting to bribe me, Crowley?”

“That depends on if it’s working or not. I was planning to give you at least _one_ of the tickets anyway.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Of course I’ll do that for you.”

As tended to happen, on occasion, the light and carefree lunches turned into more serious, heavily-contrasted dinners.

“I’m getting too old for this whole one and done scenario,” Aziraphale said, tracing the tines of his fork along the leftover crumbs on his dessert plate.

“One and done? Is that like a one-night stand?”

“Broadly. I mean meeting someone, exchanging numbers, a bit of obligatory small talk over drinks with nothing _at all_ of interest to say a few times for propriety, then a quick shag and it’s back to reality, never to cross paths intentionally again. It’s a _complete_ nightmare,” Aziraphale said, rolling his eyes.

“You gave me _your_ number,” Crowley mused with a hint of a teasing grin.

“For the books! You were at an auction looking for _books_. It was _purely_ professional.”

“Right, of course,” Crowley said, quietly huffing a laugh as he looked down at his coffee cup. _Purely professional,_ Crowley thought. “So, how does this _one and done_ differ from a one-night stand?”

“At least that has some semblance of a _connection_ involved," Aziraphale explained. "There’s an element of human interaction beyond finding someone in a pub to simply shag for a few hours.”

Crowley had to physically restrain his arching eyebrow at the thought of _a few hours_ said so casually. That sounded like fun, and that could only lead to trouble.

Aziraphale sighed. “I don’t think I could stomach another one-night stand.” The tips of his ears reddened slightly as he realized what he had just said. “Oh, I, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s all right,” Crowley said, gently. “I’m not offended. I feel the same way, as a matter of fact. Well, in a way,” Crowley said, sliding his fingertips mindlessly along the tablecloth. “You know what I do for a living. I’m _good_ at it. I have a reputation, and as such, I’ve amassed an impressive book of clients, clients with expensive tastes who tip accordingly. I do quite well for myself. Now, you and I both know I don’t _actively_ flaunt it, but in my line of work, I have an image to maintain. More importantly, on a personal level, I do enjoy _quality_. And that appreciation comes with a side effect. There are people who see my clothes, my watch, my car, things like that, and decide they want in on that, too. That’s usually the reason most people chat me up at all.”

“Oh, that can’t be the _only_ reason,” Aziraphale argued. He knew personally how much fun it was to be around Crowley. Surely anyone else could see that.

“All I can really tell you is that their interest is rarely ever about _me_ at the start. It only ever becomes about _me_ when it _ends_.” Crowley shrugged. “It’s my own fault, really. I guess I sort of encouraged it with gifts, hoping someone would actually stick around a bit longer. Bit of an abrasive personality, it seems.”

"I don't think that's true at all."

"You're one of the few."

“Is that why you took me to Granaio before?”

“Well, partly. Mostly that was because it was such short notice and I know I can always get a table there because they know me. It’s comfortable. Had I the time to do so, I would probably have booked a reservation somewhere far fancier than that to impress you.” Crowley looked back down at the table. _Why did I tell him that?_

“Oh, Crowley. You don’t have to do that. Anyone who would require you purchase their attention isn’t worth keeping around.”

“Ngk, yeah, I, I know. I know that.” Crowley’s glasses had slid down his nose, the sudden breaking of evening sunlight through the cloudy sky from the window revealing the golden flecks of fire in the lighter-colored heterochromatic sections on either side of his otherwise dark irises. “I don’t mind sharing, not at all. It’s just that so many people only want to _take_. But it’s like you said, even if it isn’t _real_ , there’s still that little bit of connection involved.”

There was a vulnerability in Crowley’s eyes that Aziraphale hadn’t noticed before. “It’s lonely, isn’t it?” He said quietly.

Crowley pushed his sunglasses back up on his nose out of habit, covering his eyes once more, to Aziraphale’s dismay. “I’d rather do a million-mile freestyle dive into a pool of boiling sulfur than have another one-night stand.”

“Is that why you said you didn’t trust me, before?”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “I am _so_ sorry about that. You know, I, I was going through so much at the—” Crowley stopped mid-sentence, shaking his head with a grimace. “Just never mind all that. It had nothing to do with you, and I’m _sorry_.”

“I forgive you,” Aziraphale said quietly.

Crowley cringed. “You probably shouldn’t.”

“I don’t believe that’s your decision to make, whether or not I do,” Aziraphale said with a tilt of his head. He began to reach for Crowley’s hand only to lose his nerve and change direction to pick up his own cup, taking a drink instead.

“Well,” Crowley said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You might change your mind about that.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Eh, I, uh, I was just thinking, what with our conversations lately and all, that, uh…” Crowley’s voice trailed off.

Aziraphale waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts.

“Well,” Crowley noised, “We’re both working very hard in depressing situations, and getting nowhere with hookups and dating.”

“You _could_ put it like that,” Aziraphale nodded with an awkward smile. “It _is_ a bit depressing.” Aziraphale regarded him with interest, his wide, expressive eyes picking up the grey of the clouds that had returned once more.

Crowley realized, looking into those eyes, that this might have been one of the worst ideas he had _ever_ had. But he had already stuck his foot in it.

“It might be easier if we’d both just, you know, stay home and cut out the middle man, so to speak.”

“I don’t quite follow. What middle man?”

This was more difficult than Crowley had thought. What he _wanted_ was to just sweep Aziraphale off of his feet, or even better, be swept off of his own feet _by_ Aziraphale. But after the way he had messed things up before, and as great as things were going _now_ , the idea of a romantic relationship was just too perilous. He couldn’t bear to lose Aziraphale again, especially not now that they had gotten to know one another better. Neither of them wanted to lose the friendship of the other. No, Crowley thought sadly, romance was off the table, but perhaps another sort of arrangement would be beneficial to them both.

Crowley took a deep breath to center himself. “What I mean is, neither of us wants to keep going on bad dates just as a means to an end, yes?”

Aziraphale nodded in agreement, but still looked confused.

“And we’ve both been tested recently. I know _I’m_ clean, and you—”

“Yes, yes, no surprises there,” Aziraphale quickly interjected. “What are you playing at?”

“I just thought, _maybe_ ,” Crowley’s cheeks puffed out as he huffed out a courageous breath. “I thought maybe we could help _each other_ out, sort of a benefit situation without any of the fear of being taken advantage of, made to feel like less, or spreading disease.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide with a gasp.

Crowley’s shoulders lifted in a shrug as he couldn’t meet Aziraphale’s shocked gaze.

“The end result would be the same, but it’s you and me. We cancel each other out, not having to go out and find anybody, not worrying over the whole _do I call_ or whatever. Everything stays the same, both get to enjoy ourselves, and there’s no hassle.”

Aziraphale made a breathy noise, still trying to find words.

“I-i-it doesn’t even have to _mean_ anything,” Crowley stammered, nervously trying to reassure Aziraphale. “We’d just be f-f-fucking _each other_ , but if either of us happened to meet someone we’d like to actually date, we _could_ , if we wanted to. We, we’d stay out of each other’s way. And without worrying about sex complicating getting to know someone new, since we… Well, maybe it might be _better_ that way. Maybe we’d be less likely to let ourselves slip into old habits we’ve had with past encounters, you know?” Crowley babbled nervously. He knew he _himself_ wasn’t interested in dating anyone else, but he wanted to make certain _Aziraphale_ didn’t get the wrong idea and think _he_ couldn’t pursue other avenues if he wanted. As much as Crowley wanted Aziraphale, he wanted Aziraphale to be _happy_ first.

Aziraphale looked positively _scandalized_ and horrified. This was not _at all_ what Aziraphale wanted. He had struggled with it, but ultimately accepted that Crowley had seemed to only be interested in friendship since they had reconnected. Dangling a carrot like that in front of him, it was too much. Aziraphale wanted _more_ than what was being offered.

“ _No_! Absolutely not!” Aziraphale said sharply, finally finding his voice. “I am _shocked_ that you would even _imply_ such a thing. We are _not_ even _having_ this conversation. Not another word,” he said, eyebrows furrowed as he stood up to leave.

Crowley visibly crumpled, shoulders heaving into a desolate shrug. “Right.”

“Right,” Aziraphale said as he began to walk away. He paused, not turning around. “I trust I’ll see you for lunch on Friday?” Aziraphale asked, only turning his head slightly to peek over his shoulder. “My treat.”

Crowley perked up at the notion that they were okay, nodding vigorously to confirm their usual Friday plans were still on.

After Aziraphale walked away, Crowley raised his arms in a shrug and looked up as if to ask the heavens what had just happened.

Aziraphale walked past Newt, barely registering that the young man was still there, on his way into the back room and up the stairs to his flat. He carefully removed his coat, selected an appropriately morose romance novel, and curled up into his bed to read. It may have been early in the evening, but he didn't care. He was upset by what Crowley had suggested during dinner.

Opening the book, Aziraphale stared down at the pages, struggling to focus on the words in front of him. It was an unsuccessful attempt, but a valiant effort nonetheless. He would much rather pretend to read than obsess over how much he wished Crowley still wanted _him_ the way _he_ still wanted _Crowley_ after all this time.

That evening, Crowley entered his flat the same way he usually did, walking through the door alone. He walked past the couch to run his hands along the back of the sleeping cat on top of it, and to his bedroom. He laid out a plush, thick robe, tossing the satiny robe already on the bed, along with the clothing he had just removed, into a hamper. Walking into the bathroom, he didn’t bother turning on any lights. He didn’t want to look in the mirror. Instead, he navigated by muscle memory towards a drawer on the side to remove two items. Reaching a hand to the hook next to the glass of the shower door, he confirmed a towel was hanging there before stepping inside, items in hand.

Crowley usually liked his showers as hot as he could stand them, but this wasn’t that type of situation. He turned the water on low and warm, like a gentle rain overhead. Crowley lowered himself to his knees on the edge of the soft silicone shower mat. He positioned the first item securely to the shower floor before opening the second.

There wasn’t anything particularly special about what he was doing, leaning against the cool tiles as he opened himself up alone in the darkness. He had done this before, and would likely do it again, given the way his conversation with Aziraphale had gone earlier.

Placing both hands on the wall, Crowley lowered himself slowly, breathing deeply at the stretch of the toy against his inner walls. He leaned his forehead against the tile wall of the shower, trying to remember what it felt like when Aziraphale had hugged him so long ago. After a moment, he wrapped his arms around himself tightly, letting out a ragged breath as he wished he could feel that warm embrace once more.

Once again, Crowley needed to replace an assistant, along with a sizable chunk of his petty cash account. This time, however, none of his possessions were taken, there was far less money missing, and he had no misunderstandings regarding any friendship with Cranby.

All in all, it was his least disastrous embezzlement fiasco to date.

Crowley flipped through the papers in front of him.

“Right, uh… Candidate person,” Crowley began.

“I have a _name_.”

“Yes, but it’s long, and difficult to say.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes.

After a few questions, Crowley was satisfied that many of his boxes were ticked, but he still wasn’t quite convinced she was the right person for the job. He was a bit gun-shy, after all.

More than that, however, was how discombobulating the whole interviewing experience had been thus far.

“Right. Twice a month, we’ll need to have a meeting regarding where your funds are being allocated, along with inventory updates once a month,” the candidate explained to him.

“I don’t do that,” Crowley explained. “I hire _other_ people to do that. That’s the job you’re interviewing for, doing _that_ so I don’t have to.”

“And look how well that has worked out for you,” she said with an arch of an eyebrow.

Crowley crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair to glare at her. Why did he feel as though he were the one being interviewed? “You _do_ realize I’m the one with the power here, don’t you?”

“It’s adorable that you think that,” The woman smiled. “So, this is my rate,” she said, sliding a slip of paper across his desk.

“This,” Crowley scoffed, looking at the number on the paper, “This is highway robbery!”

“It’s less than what you’ve paid the previous two people in this position,” she smirked. “I’d have to work for you for over 60 years to make _that_ much at _this_ rate. And that was just the _first_ one.”

“Oi!” Crowley exclaimed, sitting up in his chair. “That’s rude.”

“It’s also true.”

Crowley snorted. “Point taken.” He paused in thought for a moment. “How do _you_ know how much it was?”

“Due diligence, of course,” she said proudly. “I’m thorough. I always do a bit of research before an interview. Found out some interesting things about you, too, and your previous line of work… _Crawley_.” Her grin was almost snake-like, but not _quite_.

Crowley’s blood ran as cold as the lowest depths of the ocean. He hadn’t heard that name since his early days of breaking and entering. If word got out of his past growing up back in Edinburgh, it could _ruin_ him. Not to mention the people still there he had been avoiding for decades.

“Ngk,” Crowley said. “That’s not information I… How did you…?”

“I told you. I’m _thorough_. I always get the information I need.”

“I can’t… If… If my clients knew…” He said, his accent slipping from the Estuary accent he had been using since coming to London back into his native Scots lilt.

“I suppose it’s for the best that you’re going to hire me, then, isn’t it?”

“Are you _blackmailing_ me to get this job?” He asked, his voice hitting highland notes.

“ _Of course not_. I’m impressing you with my skillset,” she said, very obviously offended. “Imagine what I could do for you if I have more than a few days to prepare.”

“You figured out my secret past in a few days?”

“I’m very good. And also, your alias is just a single letter difference. It’s not that difficult, really.”

“I need it to _stay_ secret,” Crowley said, still not quite back to his previous accent.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to _tell_ anyone, if that’s what you’re concerned with. You can relax. I’ve no intention of pulling the mask hiding your cheekbones to reveal your mild-mannered alter-ego to the world, you bellend.”

He looked at her skeptically.

“You’re free to tell me to leave right now if you want to,” she said with quiet reassurance, realizing how important this really was to him. “And that will be the end of it. But you _won’t_ , because you _need_ me, and we both know it.”

Crowley leaned forward across his desk with a tilt of his head and a dark, scowling glare. “I don’t like you.”

“Excellent,” she said, picking up her things and putting them back into her satchel. “I’ll see you Monday morning at 8:00am.”

“I won’t be in until 9:00.”

“Make it 8:30, then,” she said, flipping her long, wavy auburn ponytail as she turned to open the door.

“Fine,” he growled as he watched her leave. _What just happened here?_

His new assistant-slash-accountant sorted, he decided it was time to relax and unwind, and there was a couch in the back of a bookshop with his name on it.

“I don’t know who my friends are,” Crowley said conspiratorially. “I mean, they _say_ they like me for me, but no, nobody _else_ even bothers to _pretend_ to reach for the tab anywhere we go. 'Cept you. You, you're special. You and Figgs. But the _rest_ of 'em, they're... You know?” Crowley took a deep drink from his glass. “Even people who work for me. I had to get rid of, of Cranby.”

“Cranberry? Like the berry?” Aziraphale asked with a confused pout.

“No, _Cranby_ , like the embezzler formerly in my employ.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, still not understanding, but playing along to be polite.

“I’ve got a new one now.”

“A new Cranby?”

“Yes. Well, no. But another whatever it’s called.”

“It?”

“She has a _name_ , Aziraphale,” Crowley chastised.

“She?”

“The person that handles my affairs now.” Crowley cleared his throat.

“What is it?”

Crowley shrugged. “I don’t know. I really don’t remember.” His cheeks puffed out as he huffed out a breath. “Anyway, I don’t know who my friends are.”

“Quite literally, if you can’t remember the name of your new cranberry.”

“She’s not a _cranberry_. And she just… She _works_ for me. I don’t know anything more than that, other than the background check and references. Maybe that’s part of the problem. I’m gonna, I, yeah. I’m gonna get to know this one better, I think. Keep an eye out.” Crowley looked around for a moment before leaning in to whisper. “I’m actually a bit frightened of her. I think she could kill me and no one would ever know.”

“That doesn’t sound particularly employable.”

“Eh,” Crowley shrugged. “I think I’d rather have her on my side than not, to be honest. Especially given this whole _friend_ issue.”

“ _I’ll_ be your friend,” Aziraphale said, pouring some wine into his glass and some on his hand.

Crowley watched with longing eyes as a pink tongue lapped the droplets up off of a firm, strong hand. “What?”

“I said, I’ll be your _friend_.”

“You will?”

Aziraphale nodded. “And you’ll _know_ it, because you are currently drinking _my_ wine. That _I_ bought.” Aziraphale kept nodding. “With my own money, even.”

Crowley perked up. “That’s _true_. You’ve even _thrown_ money at me before.”

“Did I?” Aziraphale asked, confused.

“You did. When you got mad at me over coffee. I was a right prick to you, and… You throw, er, threw money at me,” Crowley sniffed. “One, one of the notes landed in the candle. Lucky it didn’t catch. Might have gone poof,” Crowley said, miming a fireball with his hands. “Another one hit _me_ , even. But yeah, you, you _did_ that. That _happened_.” He wrinkled his nose and took another drink, sucking air through his lips to make a slurping noise before swallowing. “And you _left_ ,” Crowley scowled, his drunken senses tinging with the memory of that feeling.

“I didn’t throw it _at_ you,” Aziraphale said. “I threw it _on the table_ , to cover my portion of lunch. It _barely_ grazed your finger.”

“But you _admit_ , it _did_ hit me.”

“Well, I’m so _pleased_ you were able to recover from such a deb-bedib-debil-billy… A _traumatic_ accident.”

“I don’t know that I have, actually,” Crowley said, only partially joking. He was fine _physically_ , anyway. “What was my point?”

“I don’t believe you were making one,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Oh,” Crowley said, tilting his head up to look at the ceiling in thought. “What was _your_ point, then?”

Aziraphale took a moment to try to think. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “I would like to be your _friend_ ,” he said after a few moments.

“Friend,” Crowley repeated. It wasn’t ideal, he thought, the way that Aziraphale stressed the word. Weren’t they _already_ friends? Crowley wanted to _be_ friends, obviously, but he was hoping for a bit more to go with that. Friend _platinum_. All the benefits of the Friend package with added bonuses for being an exclusive premium member. Maybe if the platinum level went well enough, in time he could upgrade to diamond benefits, he thought, gazing at Aziraphale’s left hand.

Crowley sighed, leaning back on the couch. Regardless of what benefit level Aziraphale was looking for, at least Crowley knew Aziraphale was interested in _him_ instead of his money, influence, or a quick shag, as had been evident by the way Aziraphale had rebuked the notion before. That was novel and new, being friends with someone not constantly asking for things. It _meant_ something to Crowley, and it was more than enough. He was certain sober-Crowley would agree.

More wine, more rambling, and less cognitive thought later, Crowley had yet to complete an entire point.

“D’you have any idea how intelligent sheep and octopop, octopods, uh, eight-legged saline wigglers are? You could, you could practically fill a series of books with information about it,” he explained, sloshing the liquid in his glass as he gestured around.

“I believe those are called encyclopedias.”

“Yeah?”

“I have some, as a matter of fact,” Aziraphale said excitedly, struggling to get up from his seat. He rushed wobblily over to a shelf, squinting as he looked through the spines of the books upon it. “Aha! Here it is,” he said triumphantly. He made his way back over, electing to plop down on the sofa next to Crowley rather than in his chair so he could show the book to Crowley properly. “You see?”

“So you do,” Crowley said, taking the book from Aziraphale’s hands. They both leaned in to look as Crowley thumbed through the pages.

“You smell _very_ good,” Aziraphale said without thinking.

“You think so?” Crowley asked, lifting his head to turn and look at Aziraphale.

“I do. There’s something there I can’t quite pinpoint, though.”

“That’s probably because of the, the scent-layering. Y-yeah. You know, when you take something and put something else on top of it. Layers.”

Aziraphale nodded, closing his eyes. “Layers, yes. Something on top of something else to make something _more_.”

“Yeah, that,” Crowley agreed.

“I do believe I like your layers,” Aziraphale mused, leaning in to inhale more deeply next to Crowley’s neck.

Crowley leaned his head back, drinking the last from his glass, then leaned forward to grab the bottle off of the table in front of them. Finding it, too, empty, he groaned, flopping back against the couch and turning his face towards Aziraphale. “Why is the wine gone?”

“Oh, don’t fret. I still have some,” Aziraphale said, picking up his glass. He reached up to move Crowley’s head back slightly as he held the glass up. Crowley reached for it, wrapping his hand around the bowl of the glass, but Aziraphale did not release it. Instead, he brought the glass up to Crowley’s mouth, tilting it until the liquid hit his lips. When he pulled the glass away, some of the wine sloshed out onto their joined thumbs. Without thinking, Aziraphale leaned forward to lick the drop up, just as he usually did when he spilled on his own thumb.

Crowley.exe crashed.

Aziraphale looked from Crowley’s eyes back down to his wine-stained lips, bringing the glass to press against them once more. As Crowley drank, liquid dribbled out along his chin and down his neck.

Crowley stilled completely the moment Aziraphale’s tongue caught the bead of wine running down his neck. It wasn’t until their lips met that he realized he had also been holding his breath along with an empty wine glass. With a sharp intake of breath, he realized there were arms wrapped around him. He closed his eyes and parted his lips, letting himself sink into _whatever_ this was that they were doing as he greedily returned the embrace.

The sound of a dropped wineglass shattering did nothing to slow them down.

Someone, as to _who_ , well, that was anyone’s guess, but _someone_ had unbuttoned Crowley’s trousers and put Aziraphale’s hand down his pants.

Crowley heard a cricket chirp from somewhere in the shop.

“Wait,” Crowley said, trying to unwrap his legs from Aziraphale’s waist in an attempt to sit up. “I don’t think you want this.”

“I don’t?” Aziraphale asked, confusion showing over his blown pupils.

“You _didn’t_.”

“When?”

 _Ever_ , Crowley thought. “When you were _sober_ ,” Crowley said. The fact that Aziraphale’s hand was still _in_ his pants made it a bit difficult to process information, but he was fairly certain this was a bad idea.

“Oh,” Aziraphale sounded sad. “But what if I _do_ now?”

“I don’t think that matters,” Crowley said. “If you didn’t want to do this sober, we shouldn’t do this drunk.”

Aziraphale gasped, releasing Crowley’s cock and pulling his hand back. “Oh! Do _you_ not want to do this?”

“That doesn’t matter, either,” Crowley said, mentally hissing at the loss of contact while avoiding the answer. “All it takes is _one_ unwilling participant, and it’s over with,” Crowley said. “You’re drunk, and I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“But you’re drunk, too, and _I’m_ on top of _you_.”

Crowley fell back with a whine. “Yeah.” He could feel the very clearly formed and solid _yes_ pressing firmly against his own. But Aziraphale had stormed off before, when Crowley had suggested a physical arrangement, and made it clear tonight he wanted nothing more than friendship. Crowley wouldn’t risk hurting Aziraphale and losing him all over again, probably permanently this time. Crowley looked up at Aziraphale with sad, pitiful eyes.

“I can’t cope with this when I’m drunk,” Aziraphale said, scrubbing his hands across his face with a frustrated grimace while attempting to climb off of Crowley. “I need to sober up.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Crowley scowled, finally able to sit upright without the press of a warm body on top of him.

 _Fucking Jiminy Cricket_ , Crowley thought. _My life is guided by a cartoon representation of conscience._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this would normally have been the Saturday chapter, but actually it's parts of other things. I ended up moving several scenes around because they fit the pacing better this way, I think. But I kept shifting things around so much that I decided to just POST the chapter and lock it in rather than spend any more time moving things around this week, as I have a lot specifically scheduled to do for the writers I'm working with in the DIWS Mini Bang this week to get ready for the posting schedule in July.  
> Depending on how that goes, there may still be a chapter this weekend, as I have over 20k pre written even now, but don't COUNT on that in the event I don't have time to rearrange and fill in gaps.
> 
> Anyway, I do hope you enjoyed this chapter that has been driving me batty for the last few days!


	5. Angel In The Streets...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THAR BE SEXYTIMES AHEAD

After a long weekend of _not_ talking about anything that had happened on the couch in the back room of the bookshop, Monday rolled around.

“You’re late.”

“No, _you_ said 8:30 was _fine_ ,” Crowley retorted as he walked towards the smell of fresh coffee coming from the corner of the office. He stopped suddenly, shaking his head in amazement at himself as he turned around to face his new assistant. “And for the record, _I’m_ the boss. I make my own time. I tell _you_ when _you_ are late.”

“Right,” she said, effectively ignoring that last part to get down to business. “Anyway, your filing system is shit, and I’m going to have to overhaul your entire operation.”

“That’s, that’s good. Do it, then,” Crowley said, continuing on over to the side to search for his mug that was conspicuously absent. “Just make certain I can get to whatever it is I need if you’re off running an errand and aren’t here.”

“That’s going to be dependent upon your reading comprehension skills, and not at all my responsibility.”

Crowley rolled his eyes as he opened all the doors, glaring at the dishes and items within. “Where is my mug?”

“I thought they were _all_ your mugs,” she said with a smirk.

“Why are you so mean?” Crowley asked her as he pulled a random not- _his_ -mug from the shelf and filled it with coffee.

“I’m not mean,” she said as she flipped through the files in one of the cabinets.

“You _are_ ,” he muttered into his coffee, settling in at his desk to check his emails.

“You still haven’t said my name.”

“Do you not _know_ what your name is?” Crowley asked, not looking up from his computer screen.

“I do,” she said, sitting down at what was now her desk. “And I also know yours, Anthony Janthony Crowley,” she said, pulling a mug out from behind the computer to take a sip.

“Oi!” Crowley said, sitting up quickly. “That’s _not_ my name, and _that’s my mug_!” He said, pointing from her to the large black mug that faded into a deep, fiery red at the bottom that she held in her hands.

She smiled and took another sip before going back to working on the computer.

Crowley had made certain to leave instructions on how to log into the system before he left the previous Friday to avoid any hassles. At that time, he had no idea how woefully outmatched he truly was.

He looked in horror as the email he just sent had a new signature line.

“For fuck’s sake, my name is _not_ _Janthony_!” He said angrily as he found himself without admin authorization to change it back.

She shifted her eyes up to meet his, smiling sweetly before looking back down.

“Fix it?” He whined. “Please?”

She looked back up at him, expectantly.

Crowley sighed. “Gonagall.”

“That’s my surname.”

“W-well, I go by _my_ surname, so it counts.”

“I don’t, and it _doesn’t_ , but I’ll let it go this time since at least I know you know that much.” She sighed. “It’s really quite important to me that you recognize me as a _person_ and not just an employee. I don’t want to be another nameless automaton. If it’s too much for you to say Diorbhall, then you can just call me Didi, or even just Dee if you like.”

“Thank you, _Didi_ ,” he said, placing gentle emphasis on her nickname. “Now can you please let me do my work? I need to know you’re reliable and not going to ruin me before you can steal from me.”

She typed a few keystrokes into her computer, updating his admin privileges. “And just so you know,” she said as she changed the signature on his email back and unlocked the outbox, “I was never going to actually let you send that. I wouldn’t do that to you.” She stood up, walking over to the sink with the mug in hand. “I know where the lines are drawn,” Didi said as she washed out his mug, filling it with coffee and adding the appropriate amounts of sugar and milk. She had carefully watched how he prepared it earlier specifically for this reason.

Didi placed Crowley’s mug in front of him. “I just needed to see how you reacted to a few things early-on, to know if this was somewhere I could be comfortable working.” Didi tilted her head, casting her eyes off to the side. “I needed to see if I could make it work here. You aren’t the only one who has been burned before,” Didi said with an apologetic smile.

“So, you were testing me, is that right?” Crowley asked.

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose I was.”

Crowley smiled genuinely. He could absolutely appreciate that sort of thing. In fact, he _respected_ it quite a bit, having similar habits of his own. “Well, let’s get back to work then, shall we?”

That evening, Aziraphale had invited Crowley out for an impromptu dinner, both of them having a particularly eventful day. Crowley’s day had started off with a bang, but gradually got better and better. Aziraphale’s day, however, had decidedly _not_.

“It’s so infuriating,” Aziraphale said, clenching his fingers and releasing them over and over. “People make the assumption that I’m simple and naïve, merely because I try to be _kind_.”

“Naïve?”

“Yes. They seem to think I’m some vapid, lackluster simpleton that they can simply guide in whatever direction they like, as if I don’t realize what’s happening.”

Crowley looked at him with sympathetic concern, lips drawn inward and pressed into a straight line, causing his cheek to dimple in a way that Aziraphale was both charmed by and irrationally irritated with.

“Do you realize that I speak _seven_ languages?”

“Seven? That’s rather impressive, actually,” Crowley said. “I only speak five.”

“Well, I’m only passably fluent in five, myself. I’m a bit out of practice with French, for example. I’m far better in writing than in _speaking_ Mandarin, but I can muddle through if need be.”

“Your Japanese is flawless,” Crowley said. “I quite enjoy it when you order sushi.”

Aziraphale smiled proudly. “Thank you.”

“What other languages do you speak, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Aziraphale smiled coyly at the question. It was so lovely, he thought, to actually be asked about his interests rather than regaled with story after story of accomplishment without ever being able to get a word in edgewise. “Well, we’ve already mentioned French, Mandarin, and Japanese,” Aziraphale began. “And then there’s English, obviously,” he began.

“ _Obviously_ ,” Crowley agreed.

“Then there’s Welsh,” Aziraphale continued. “And you might be fascinated to know that the Welsh language contains one of the longest words on all of Earth.”

“Oh, is that so?” Crowley wrinkled his nose quickly with a hint of a grin. “I think I might have heard that as well.”

“I actually used it as a vocal warm-up when I was doing theater in my youth. No one else could do it,” Aziraphale said proudly.

Crowley sat upright with a smug look. “Oh, you _say_ no one else can do it.”

“No, there’s no way,” Aziraphale said, his eyes flashing with excitement. “There’s no way you can know this.”

“Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch,” Crowley said without a bit of struggle.

“Oh, my God,” Aziraphale said, slapping his hand on the table with delight.

“I speak Welsh, too,” Crowley said, looking down with a laugh. “And I spent a week learning how to say that.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Crowley asked with a shrug.

Aziraphale sat back in his chair, fascinated.

Crowley counted on his fingers. “That’s five. What are the other two?”

Aziraphale’s face fell ever so slightly. It hadn’t occurred to him until just this moment that he let Crowley _assume_ he didn’t understand German when they had reconnected. “I, um, I can read and speak Latin,” he said quietly.

“Impressive,” Crowley said. “But that’s only six. What’s the seventh? Wait, let me guess. Is it Klingon? Or perhaps one of the Elvish languages?”

“Well…”

“Oh, tell me it’s Esperanto! That’s one of mine,” Crowley said. “Ĉu vi ŝatus pli da teo?”

“Oh, no, I don’t speak Esperanto.”

“Mi amas vin,” Crowley said with a look of longing.

“What did you just say?”

“I said that was a pity,” Crowley lied. “And before that, I asked if you wanted more tea,” Crowley said with a gentle smile. At least that part was true.

Aziraphale fretted, wringing his hands as he spoke in a quiet voice. “I also speak German.”

“So do I. Why would you be upset about—” Crowley’s eyebrows shot up as he stopped mid-sentence. “ _Oh_ ,” he said.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You were just so kind to me, and you had made it clear you didn’t want me to know what they said… Even, even though I already _did_.”

“I see,” Crowley said, licking along the back of his teeth with a nod. He leaned back in his chair, balancing it on the back legs as he regarded Aziraphale.

They looked at one another quietly for a few minutes. After the waiter brought the bill, Crowley dropped his chair to reach for it.

“Crowley, I’ve _told_ you, I don’t _need_ you to—”

Crowley threw his arms out, palms up. “Maybe that’s why I _want_ to, because you _don’t_ need me to, all right? There’s no _expectation_ of it. Do you have any idea how _refreshing_ that is for me? I get to _choose_ it, _knowing_ that I’m not being _used_ , and it makes me happy to do so.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley in consideration.

“This isn’t an obligation for either of us. If you want to pay, by all means, do so. But I would _really_ appreciate it if you wouldn’t treat me trying to do something nice for you like it’s some big power-play move to strut around with when it’s _not_.” Crowley looked down, stabbing his spoon around the saucer beneath his cup awkwardly. “I just, I don’t mind if someone _needs_ me to, but you _don’t_ , and I like that I’m not _expected_ to pay. You’re here for _me_ , and not what I can get for you.” Crowley shrugged, unable to meet Aziraphale’s eye. “I _like_ that.”

As they walked along, the conversation continued comfortably. Aziraphale’s bookshop was in between the restaurant and Crowley’s flat, but instead of saying goodnight on the doorstep as they did most of the time, Aziraphale invited Crowley in to continue their conversation over a cup of tea. It wasn’t necessarily that they were discussing anything of particular importance, but the random bits of conversation were flowing so comfortably that neither of them was really ready for the evening to end.

They stood in the kitchenette off to the side of the back room of the shop, sipping tea and talking about their day. Aziraphale had a run in with a particularly nasty customer earlier. The experience had been chipping away at his self-esteem the entire day, and he was once again dwelling on it.

Crowley, however, was having none of that.

“I’ve made a career out of understanding value and finding riches amongst the rubbish, Aziraphale. I’m considered an expert in my field. I _know_ what a _gift_ quality is, and right now, it’s in front of me wrapped in lovely shades of cream and tied off with a handsome tartan bow.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “You can’t stand tartan.”

“On the contrary,” Crowley replied casually. “I’ve grown quite fond of it. I think I just needed to see it in the right light,” Crowley smiled, his eyes lingering upon Aziraphale’s face as he leaned against the worktop in front of Aziraphale.

Aziraphale tried his best not to allow himself to get lost in those oddly-colored eyes, which proved to be a herculean task.

 _A gift_ , Aziraphale thought. _Do you really think I’m a gift? Me? No one has ever said that about me before._ The thought effervesced in his core, bubbling out with a comforting warmth. Aziraphale closed his eyes, letting the feeling wash over him.

“Unwrap me.” The words fell from his lips before he could think better of it. His eyes fluttered open in a panic.

Crowley tensed as his eyebrows shot up. He looked to Aziraphale in surprise.

“This doesn’t have to change anything, of course,” Aziraphale said quickly, worrying at Crowley’s reaction. “But if you were still _interested_ —”

“Yeah, I’m still interested,” Crowley replied shakily, talking over Aziraphale.

“—in a physical arrangement, I mean. No need to worry about any sort of deeper meaning or any of that other messy business.”

Crowley’s heart sank. “Right, of course.” _That_. “That’s… Yeah, doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Just a way to let off steam, as it were.”

“Right,” Crowley repeated. This wasn’t what he _wanted_ , but if it was what he could _have,_ he would dig his greedy fingers in and take every scrap he was offered. “No strings.”

“So…” Aziraphale said, his mouth suddenly dry. Why was he so nervous? Oh, _right_. He had just agreed to a sexual relationship with the person who, in a few months’ time, had somehow managed to become as close as, if not a quite a bit closer than, given the situation, his previous best friend of over thirty years. Oh, yes, and also, he was very much impossibly in love with Crowley and absolutely could not let him actually _know_ that.

It all seemed simple enough, really.

“Uh,” Crowley said, his voice gravelly as he cleared his throat, stepping in front of Aziraphale, who was leaning back against the wall next to the worktop. “C-can I k-kiss you?”

Aziraphale looked up at him, wide-eyed as he nodded.

Crowley placed his hands on either side of Aziraphale’s face. Crowley’s lip quirked to a hint of a grin at the uncertain, but _genuine_ smile on the face in front of him. He leaned in to bring their lips together. It was far more chaste than Crowley had intended, just a simple press of closed lips against one another, yet something about that felt _right_ as he pulled back to view Aziraphale’s reaction.

Crowley’s eyes tracked down from Aziraphale’s eyes to his lips as he watched that pink tip of a tongue slip out, only to disappear as quickly as it had appeared. Crowley noticed the gentle bob of Aziraphale’s bowtie as he swallowed.

It took every ounce of his strength not to growl and rip that bowtie open with his teeth.

Instead, he took the ends between his thumbs and fingers, tugging delicately to loosen the knot before running his fingers inside to pull it gently open, letting the tie hang down on either side of Aziraphale’s collar. He watched as Aziraphale’s pulse visibly quickened, obviously nervous, though it seemed out of place.

Crowley let out a shaky breath. He wasn’t usually this nervous, either. They had kissed before, just a few days prior, but it had been _different_ then. Right now, they were stone-cold sober. Friday, they were drunk, and that had a lot to do with why things had gotten out of hand. _Actually, that’s the opposite of what happened,_ Crowley thought. _Things were most **definitely** ‘in hand’ a few days ago in this very room._

Crowley had an idea.

“May I?” He whispered, reaching for Aziraphale’s waistband. He had hoped it might have been easier on both of them to just get on with it.

“Oh!” Aziraphale blurted out quickly. “I didn’t think this through. I’m afraid I don’t have, um, well, I wasn’t _expecting_ anything, you see, and—”

“We don’t have to do _that_ ,” Crowley quickly said, pulling his hand back. “We don’t have to do _anything_ you don’t want to do.”

“Oh, don’t misunderstand. I _want_ to.” Aziraphale boldly grabbed Crowley’s hand to place it back over the bulge in his trousers. “I want to, _very_ much.”

 _Oh, thank **fuck**_ , Crowley thought. “In that case, even if we _did_ , we’ve both been tested. I haven’t been with anyone since.”

“Nor have I,” Aziraphale confirmed. “But I also don’t have any lubricant.”

Crowley shifted his knee, already pressed firmly between Aziraphale’s thighs without Crowley even realizing he had done so, to slide his legs open. “There’s plenty we can do without it,” Crowley said as he rolled his hips into Aziraphale.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said with a gasp. “I rather think there is.” Aziraphale’s face brightened. “Actually, if you’d like to come upstairs, I might have a bit of an acceptable substitution.”

“It’s hand lotion, isn’t it?” Crowley grinned. “You want us to go upstairs for hand lotion.”

“Well, _yes_ , but _also_ I’m not the only person with a key to the shop, and sometimes Gabriel stops by to pick up an item sold online after hours.”

“You could always tie your tie around the handle to the shop door,” Crowley offered, drawing comfort and relaxation as they fell back into the banter he was accustomed to.

Aziraphale’s eyes grew wide with his sharp intake of breath. “This is my _favorite_ tie.”

Crowley nodded with a cheeky grin. “Right, uh… Why don’t we go upstairs?”

Aziraphale took Crowley by the hand and led him up to his flat.

Crowley looked around. He had never actually been inside of Aziraphale’s flat _properly_. He had only ever been at the base of the stairs when the shop was open and he was coming to wait for Aziraphale so they could walk to lunch together. Everything else had been in the back room or out on the sales floor. But then again, there hadn’t really ever been a _need_ for more privacy than that before _now_.

Somehow, standing in Aziraphale’s living room felt more intimate than what they were about to do.

Crowley watched Aziraphale removing his coat and shoes, and followed suit, hanging his jacket on the offered hanger in the closet next to the door.

“If you’ll just follow me through here,” Aziraphale said, his voice suddenly less confident than it had been only moments ago.

They entered Aziraphale’s bedroom. Crowley couldn’t stop the grin from forming as he saw the lotion on the bedside table. “That’s convenient,” he said.

Aziraphale’s ears turned pink. “I like to moisturize before I go to sleep so I don’t have to touch anything else after.”

“And the tissues are for when you get a tickle in your nose.”

“As a matter of fact, they _are_ ,” Aziraphale huffed.

It took a minute for them to realize they had both stopped talking while standing side by side, staring down at the bed.

“So,” Crowley began nervously. “Now what?”

“It’s awkward, isn’t it,” Aziraphale said.

“A bit, yeah. It’s… It feels weird,” Crowley said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Not _bad_ , though, so there’s that, at least.”

“Perhaps, as long as we’re both still willi—”

“Very willing, yes,” Crowley quickly interjected.

Aziraphale laughed, relaxing a bit. “In that case, I think I’d rather like to try kissing again,” Aziraphale said quietly. “That went rather well, I think.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Crowley said, stepping closer. He slipped his fingers inside of the open collar of Aziraphale’s shirt, tilting his head up to slot their lips together once more.

This was not the same innocent kiss they had shared in the kitchenette. Lips parted as their tongues danced in exploration of one another. Hands that had once been frightened while untying a bowtie began deftly unfastening buttons, pushing down braces, and sliding beneath layers to reveal the treasure beneath the wrapping.

They were joined, almost in competition, by strong, powerful hands that found their way to unfastening a belt faster than the owner had ever managed himself. These same hands tugged at the shirt to free it from its waistband prison only to be pulled up and overhead.

They continued, undressing one another until there was nothing left between them but fear and excitement.

Crowley gently pushed Aziraphale back on to the bed, climbing over on top of him. He looked down to see Aziraphale’s chin-length platinum-blonde hair spilling around his head like a halo. _Oh, my angel,_ Crowley thought. _My beautiful, gorgeous angel. I’ve thought about this moment so many times. This is not how I pictured it, but if this is what you’ll give me, I will accept it gladly._

Crowley settled himself between Aziraphale’s legs, leaning down to kiss him once more. He could feel Aziraphale’s hardness against his own. It made him shiver as he curled his body up against Aziraphale, enjoying the friction against his own member.

“Lotion,” Aziraphale said, pointing towards the side table.

“Right,” Crowley replied, leaning over to grab it. He handed it to Aziraphale. “Open it for me?”

Aziraphale opened the cap, pouring some into Crowley’s hand. Crowley reached down, gasping at the cold as he slicked himself up in an effort to warm the lotion before reaching over to take Aziraphale’s cock in his hand to do the same. Crowley lined them both up together, wrapping his long fingers around them both and began to thrust.

Crowley was surprised when he felt Aziraphale reach down to join him, their thumbs overlapping as he brought their hands together. Crowley was accustomed to having to do all of this himself. It was exciting, he thought, the feel of someone else sharing in the effort. He buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck, humming his appreciation into the angel’s skin as they moved together.

Aziraphale was _thrilled_. More often than not, when he reached to be included in something like this, his hand would be swatted away _. Let me do it_ , they would tell him. The fact that not only was Crowley allowing him to be an active participant, but seemed to actually _enjoy_ Aziraphale’s assistance, sent a jolt of pleasure through him.

They began to stroke each other faster in tandem, Crowley holding himself up with one arm, Aziraphale pulling him down into a hungry kiss with his other.

“A-Aziraphale,” Crowley panted out as his hips began to jerk. “I’m not gonna… I… It’s been so long, I—“

“I’m so close, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered harshly as his eyes closed. “I’m not going to last much longer, either.”

As if a weight had been lifted off of Crowley’s back, he relaxed, melting into Aziraphale as he came between their hands. He kept stroking his hand along with Aziraphale until they had both arrived at their destination.

They wiped each other off with tissues, laying together for a few minutes to catch their breath.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting your bed back so you can go to sleep,” Crowley started to move off of Aziraphale to get up, only to be pulled back down.

“Don’t go yet," Aziraphale said in a low voice. "Please."

 _That’s new,_ Crowley thought as he curled up on Aziraphale like a snake on a heated stone. He had no intention of arguing with Aziraphale if it meant he could lay against him like this.

Blissed out and wobbly, for the first time in he couldn’t _remember_ how long after sex, Crowley closed his eyes to go to sleep instead of getting dressed to go home.

Aziraphale woke before Crowley. He quickly jumped in the shower, did his hair, and got dressed before waking Crowley up.

“I have to open the shop soon, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”

“What time is it?” Crowley asked, stretching his naked body across the bed in a way Aziraphale could not help but attempt to memorize.

“It’s 7:30.”

“Shit,” Crowley said, sitting up quickly. “I’m going to be late. I don’t mean to run, but I have to get to the office.”

“Go, I understand. Don’t worry. We both have to work this morning.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to keep an eye on the new hire. I think she’s all right, but I thought that about the last two as well,” he grumbled as he sat up. “This, um, this was _good_ ,” Crowley said, trying to pull his clothes on. “I, uh… Well, I don’t know what _you_ had in mind, but…”

“If you’re asking if I’d like to do this again, the answer is yes,” Aziraphale said. “But I really must get downstairs now,” he said, stroking his fingers along Crowley’s jaw before leaving the room.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Crowley said, falling backwards on the bed dramatically. “What am I _doing_?”

Aziraphale could barely think about anything but Crowley the entire morning. He was so distracted, he didn’t even notice when Newt had come in for his shift.

“Don’t you have plans with Gabriel?” Newt asked, noticing Aziraphale had been staring at the same page of his book for the last quarter hour.

“Oh, yes, I was supposed to have tea with Gabriel. I nearly forgot. Thank you, dear boy.”

Aziraphale closed the book he hadn’t been reading and headed out the door.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Gabriel said as Aziraphale rushed over to sit down at the table. There was a pot of tea, along with a plate of scones and assorted condiments already at the table. “I was beginning to think you stood me up.” Gabriel looked him over, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“I’m _dreadfully_ sorry,” Aziraphale said, flustered. “I’ve been so terribly distracted this morning, and—”

“You had sex last night,” Gabriel said with a smirk.

“I _beg your pardon_?”

“You forget how long we were roommates. I know your _morning after_ personality.” Gabriel explained.

“Erm, uh,” Aziraphale hedged.

“Bea and I have been making bets on when you two would figure things out and get together.”

“That’s not _at all_ what happened,” Aziraphale said pointedly, busying himself with pouring a cup of tea.

Gabriel’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Was it Crowley, or is there someone _else_ you’re interested in now?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and let out an irritated breath. “ _Yes_ , it’s Crowley, but _no_ , we aren’t _together_. It’s… It’s…” Aziraphale looked down, shaking his head while adding a sugar cube to his tea. “It is what it _is_.”

“What _is_ it?” Gabriel asked quietly.

Aziraphale put on a strained smile as he pushed his spoon back and forth in his cup. “I, I don’t really know, yet, honestly.”

“What _do_ you know, then?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I know he and I are still friends,” Aziraphale said, before speaking in an almost whisper. “I know I don’t want to lose him again.”

Gabriel’s face darkened with a growl as his shoulders tensed. “Is he _making_ you do this so he won’t—”

“Oh, do calm down. No, nothing like that is happening. In fact, he might have _suggested_ it awhile back, but I’m the one who _initiated_ it both times.”

“Oh, _really_?” Gabriel said, a look of surprised amusement spreading across his face. “Are you telling me this _isn’t_ new?”

“I might have _allegedly_ found my way on top of him with my hand down his pants last week.”

“Aziraphale, you _slut_ ,” Gabriel grinned teasingly.

Aziraphale scoffed into his tea. “ _You’re_ one to talk.”

Gabriel’s jaw dropped with a laugh. “I’ve been in a relationship with the same person for over 30 years, and she’s been my wife since 2005. That _hardly_ counts.”

“Fine, then,” Aziraphale conceded. “You’re a _kept_ Himbo.”

Gabriel laughed out loud. “Oh, I’m a _Himbo_ , am I?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, not looking up from the scone he had just opened to reach for the cream. “Do you need me to explain to you what that means in smaller words?”

Gabriel quickly reached across the table to drop a bit of jam onto the piece of scone while Aziraphale was busying himself spooning cream onto his plate.

Aziraphale dropped his spoon, looking up at Gabriel through narrowed eyes. “That’s an act of _war_.”

“Just put some cream on the side, you’ll be fine,” Gabriel said with a smirk.

“Put cream on the…” Aziraphale balked. “Who raised you?”

“My parents did,” Gabriel said with a grin as he swapped their plates around, putting his own untouched scone in front of Aziraphale.

“Don’t blame this on them. I’ve met them.”

“My father puts butter, then jam on his toast. So, I suppose that means I was raised right,” Gabriel said with a shrug.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Aziraphale said, moving the jam away from Gabriel on the table.

“You can take the man out of Missouri, but you can’t take the Missouri out of the man,” Gabriel said, popping the offendingly-jammed scone piece into his mouth.

Crowley and Aziraphale had both been, regrettably, too busy to get together for anything for the rest of the week until their standing lunch appointment on Friday.

“See you tomorrow,” Newt said.

“Oh, I, well, I was just going to lunch,” Aziraphale said. “I’m coming back.”

“Yeah, because you live upstairs,” Newt said with a laugh. “But it’s Friday. You always leave when Crowley shows up on Friday, and I don’t see you again until Saturday. I just assumed you only worked a half-day on Fridays now, on account of the work you do when the shop is closed.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said with a thoughtful expression. “I suppose that’s not a terrible idea, if you don’t mind, of course.”

Newt laughed. “I told you, I thought that’s what was happening already.”

“Well, then,” Crowley said, offering his elbow. “Shall we?”

After lunch, it was decided that, as Aziraphale was officially off work, they would go on to Crowley’s flat.

Aziraphale was excited. He had never been to Crowley’s flat, as when they weren’t out at a restaurant, they went to the bookshop.

As soon as they walked through the foyer and into the living room, a black and white menace came barreling towards them, only to stop mid-pounce and spin out unceremoniously on the slick floor. As quickly as he appeared, the cat scrambled beneath the couch.

“Oh, Figgs, you don’t know what to do with yourself, do you?” Crowley asked, crouching down and wiggling his fingers to get the cat to come back out from beneath the couch.

Cautiously, the cat crept out from his hiding space, being scooped up into Crowley’s arms. Crowley rocked him gently back and forth, whispering to him. “You’re not used to anyone coming here but me, are you? I know, I know, it’s scary, huh? You’re all right. Aziraphale is our _friend_ , okay?”

Aziraphale felt two squeezes around his heart. One for how endearingly adorable it was to see Crowley so soft and tender with his cat, and another for the fact that no one ever came to see Crowley. Aziraphale remembered Crowley telling him how lonely he felt sometimes.

Aziraphale had an idea of something to possibly help with that.

“Now that we’re here,” Aziraphale began, “I was wondering what you had in mind for us to do?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, really,” Crowley said, still rocking the cat in his arms. “This was sort of sprung upon me, not that that’s a bad thing, mind. Just hadn’t come up with anything yet.”

“If I might make a suggestion, then?” Aziraphale said with a smirk.

“What did you have in mi—” Crowley’s eyebrows went up when he saw Aziraphale’s face. “ _Oh_ ,” he said, a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I _see_ ,” Crowley said, gently putting Figgs down on the back of the couch. “I could be open to suggestion, yes.”

“Well, then,” Aziraphale said, reaching for Crowley’s hand. “Why don’t you show me to your room?”

“You’re very forward today.”

 _Oh, you have no idea,_ Aziraphale thought. _Not yet, anyway. But you **will**._

Upon entering Crowley’s room, as soon as the door closed, Aziraphale quickly turned him around, pressing him up against it. Crowley’s sound of surprise was muffled by a searing kiss. Aziraphale made short work of removing the burden that was Crowley’s shirt, finding it near-impossible to remove the tight trousers. Crowley had already managed to slide Aziraphale’s braces down and remove his shirts, _plural,_ while Aziraphale was still trying to find a way through the black leather barrier.

Aziraphale, frustrated, knelt down to investigate.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley gasped with excitement as he looked down to view Aziraphale’s shoulders and back in the light from the window. “Oh, it’s possible that you don’t know, because it’s not somewhere one normally can see on oneself, but you have _wings on your back!_ ”

Aziraphale looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “And?”

“It’s just unexpected, is all. But also, not at all unexpected. Can’t wrap my mind around this yet.” Crowley tilted his head to the side, leaning over to get a better look before Aziraphale stood up. Crowley looked him in the eyes with a smirk and a laugh. “You have _wings_ on your _back_.”

“And _you_ have a snake _on your face_.”

Crowley snorted and shrugged. “Point taken.”

“Could you please take off your trousers? I haven’t brought any scissors.”

“I’ll have to lie down on the bed to do it.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Aziraphale said.

“That’s where I was going to end up anyway, wasn’t it?” A thought occurred to Crowley suddenly. “Also, I don’t want to hear any judgement. I didn’t realize we were going to do anything today, or I might have worn something different,” Crowley said nervously.

“You’ve worn these trousers several times,” Aziraphale said. "I know they _do_ come off, _somehow_."

“I’m not talking about the trousers,” Crowley said quietly as he climbed onto the middle of the bed to lie down. Aziraphale noticed his hands shaking slightly as he pushed his thumbs beneath his waistband, arching his back and lifting his hips up off of the bed to slide them down his thighs, revealing black and red lace low-rise bikini cut panties. “I wear them for me, not anybody else. If you don’t like it, I could—”

“I think they’re as lovely as you are,” Aziraphale said reassuringly as he climbed into the bed next to Crowley.

“You don’t mind?” Crowley said, his voice small and vulnerable.

“Not at all,” Aziraphale replied. “I think it’s wonderful that you do something nice for yourself,” he said, reaching over to run his hand along the side of Crowley’s hip. 

“You’re touching me,” Crowley shivered as he spoke.

“Yes, that’s often an integral part of sex.”

“No, you misunderstand. You’re _touching_ me,” Crowley explained. “It’s usually _me_ that does all the touching, except for what little I get as a means to an end.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said, his face darkening. No wonder Crowley was lonely if no one visited him or touched him. He decided to test a theory. He raked his fingernails gently along one side of Crowley’s torso, then the other, watching as Crowley leaned into each touch. Aziraphale took note of how Crowley’s breath hitched and his back arched at both hands simultaneously scratching up the sides of his ribs to his shoulders and down his arms. The soft whine that escaped Crowley’s throat as Aziraphale began to delicately massage his hand settled things for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale reached to softly caress Crowley’s face, tracing his fingertips along the delicate, yet sharply-angled features that held the worries of the world within them. He skated his fingers in a gentle glide down a long, graceful throat. Aziraphale noted how Crowley’s pulse quickened visibly beneath his own hand.

Crowley was touch-starved, and Aziraphale was more than eager to remedy that.

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, here,” Aziraphale said, looking down as he gently scratched his fingertips along the patch of hair in the center of Crowley’s chest, “But you seem, to me, like the sort of person who has to carry _everything_.” His fingers walked a path down Crowley’s torso, stopping to press in, rubbing firm circles along the delicate trail of hair below his navel leading downward.

Crowley closed his eyes, breathing out a barely audible moan through his nose. He opened them back up to listen, watching with rapt attention as Aziraphale began to speak again.

“You make decision after decision, shouldering the burden of each choice, each action, each _consequence_. People just assume you’ll handle all of the details, because that’s what you _do_. That’s your _job_ , and you’re always doing it in some fashion or another.”

Crowley looked up at him, face vulnerable and open.

“But _I_ think,” Aziraphale continued, lifting his hands to lightly slide up, tugging gently at the soft trail of hair before sliding back down to caress once more, “That what you _really_ want is for someone to allow you lie back while they took care of _you_.”

Crowley’s breath stilled when, without moving his head, Aziraphale’s eyes cut back up to meet with his own. His mouth began to water at the prospect of that.

“Am I correct?”

 _How are you so fucking sexy?_ Crowley thought. _This is torture._ Aziraphale was _touching_ him. Aziraphale _wanted_ to touch him. Aziraphale wanted to _take care_ of him. Aziraphale wanted _him_. Maybe. Probably not. He wasn’t sure about that last part. They were friends, he knew, but he didn’t think Aziraphale wanted anything more than that, emotionally. The hands roaming his body at the very least confirmed Aziraphale’s interest in their _physical_ arrangement.

Crowley had to close his eyes. It was too much to process all at once. He wanted _all_ of it, but he didn’t know how to handle that, _especially_ not from Aziraphale.

He couldn’t speak. All that came out was a whimper as he shakily nodded his affirmation.

“Now,” Aziraphale said as he moved to settle in between Crowley’s legs, lifting them up to bend at the knees. “All you need to do right now is to lie back and relax,” he said, sliding his hands underneath Crowley’s panties to carefully pull them up and off of his legs as Crowley’s hard cock sprung forth upon release. “I’ve got you.”

“What are you going to do now that you’ve got me?” Crowley asked, wide eyed and fascinated.

Aziraphale licked his lips before scooting back on the bed. He got down on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows. “You’ll see,” he said, reaching over to trace a fingertip along the underside of Crowley’s erection.

Aziraphale brushed the hair out of his face as he watched Crowley watching him with eager fascination. He gently teased up and down the shaft and the tip of Crowley's member, fingers and lips brushing feather-kisses all around.

Aziraphale wrapped his hand around the shaft to hold it in place as he gave a firm, hard lick underneath the ridge, causing Crowley’s back to arch in a hiss.

“Are you quite all right?” Aziraphale asked, brushing his hair behind his ear.

Crowley nodded silently, still watching.

Aziraphale smiled up at him before parting his lips to take the tip of Crowley’s hardness between them. Aziraphale closed his eyes and let out a muffled moan as he slid his mouth further down.

“Oh, for _fuck’s_ _sake_ , that’s your _cake sound_!” Crowley said through gritted teeth as he threw his head back, covering his eyes with his hands.

Aziraphale let out a low, rumbling laugh as he moved back and forth along Crowley’s erection, hollowing out his cheeks as he did so. He opened his eyes back up to peek at Crowley from beneath the hair that had fallen across his eyes as he continued to work his tongue along the underside of the hard cock in his mouth.

Aziraphale busied his hands with pressing into Crowley’s thigh muscles, massaging up and down as he showcased a rather impressive lack of a gag reflex.

As if to somehow get even closer, Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s legs up, placing them over his shoulder as he swallowed Crowley down as far as he could manage. He matched Crowley noise for noise, not because he was trying to, but because he was enjoying himself so much he had begun to let go of all of the ways his past partners had ruined the experiences for him.

Most of the men he had been with preferred him quiet and docile. Aziraphale was anything but. He was a bit of a hedonist, taking pleasure from a great many things. He enjoyed wine, food, books, and sex, and not necessarily in that order. Yes, Aziraphale was an _extremely_ sexual person without a proper avenue for that exploration before now.

Aziraphale was so lost in his own enjoyment that he almost didn’t notice when Crowley began to tense up, tapping him on the head. Aziraphale pulled off of Crowley, his lips swollen and dark. “Do it, I want you to,” he said, his voice ragged from the workout his throat had been having, and slipped Crowley back inside of his mouth, sucking harder than he had before.

Aziraphale had to lean in with his weight to keep Crowley still on the mattress when his orgasm overtook him. Hearing Crowley shouting his name, Aziraphale was surprised to find a bit of a release of his own happening. Aziraphale held him there, patiently waiting for the last aftershocks to work their way through.

Aziraphale pushed Crowley’s legs up and open a bit more as he slipped Crowley’s now softening dick from between his lips. He nipped at the skin just between Crowley’s thighs and cheeks playfully before raising back up to meet Crowley’s gaze.

Crowley, red faced and spent, could barely hold himself up on his elbows to look down at Aziraphale. It had been _years_ since someone had done this for him, and not just the physical actions, either. It had been far too long since anyone had focused on _giving_ instead of _taking_ what they wanted from him. In that moment, what Aziraphale had to offer was _everything_ Crowley needed.

Weakly, Crowley realized that Aziraphale deserved the same. “Did you want me to…?”

“No, thank you,” Aziraphale said, still rubbing his hands along Crowley’s legs. “This was all for you.”

“I don’t want to be selfish.”

“And you _haven’t_ been,” Aziraphale said, matter-of-factly. “You’ve given me exactly what I wanted.”

“And what was that?”

“To take care of _you_.”

Aziraphale wiped his mouth and crawled up along the bed to lie next to Crowley, pulling him over to be his pillow. Aziraphale stroked his fingers through Crowley’s hair as it spread out on his chest. After some time had passed, Aziraphale found he was curious about some things. “For future reference, what do you like best?”

Crowley lifted his head slightly to look at Aziraphale’s face. “Nobody’s ever asked me that,” he said quietly.

“No? That’s a shame,” Aziraphale said softly.

“I don’t really know, for certain. Well, I have a _few_ ideas, but I’d probably need to think about it for a bit. What about you?”

Aziraphale smiled at the way Crowley nuzzled against him beneath the scratch of fingernails on his scalp. “I suppose I wanted to know because no one ever asks me, either.”

They discussed several things back and forth, agreeing on some, unsure of others, and finding out some rather interesting parallels between their pasts with other partners. It seemed that, in many ways, they were very much complimentary opposites to one another.

“Do you like to fuck or be fucked?” Crowley asked.

“I’m not _opposed_ to it, if you wanted to do that. I’m happy to oblige. But I don’t really get anything out of it, not on its own. Though, I think, I might get something out of it if you were enjoying it. I do like the sounds you make.”

“That’s fair. I actually like it quite a bit, being fucked, I mean. I can get off on that by itself, as a matter of fact. And I generally _do_ , when…” Crowley smiled bashfully, burying his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s arm.

“When you handle your own business, you mean?” Aziraphale helpfully offered.

“Yeah,” came Crowley’s muffled response. “And just so you know,” Crowley said, lifting his head up long enough to speak. “I don’t usually make that much noise. That was new for me.”

Aziraphale smiled. That made him _incredibly_ happy to hear. “When was the last time you did that with a partner?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley lifted his head, a thoughtful expression tugging at his features. “Which way do you mean? I’m usually the one _doing_ the fucking, if that’s what you mean. But as far as _being_ fucked, I honestly couldn’t say. It’s been so long I can’t remember.” He sighed heavily. “It’s usually expected of me to do everything. You were right about that.”

“I understand. It’s the opposite for me. Men generally view me as some sort of pillow princess,” he looked down at Crowley with a grin. “No offense.”

Crowley scrunched up his nose with a curl of his upper lip in a mock scowl. “ _Some_ taken,” he said teasingly before settling his head back down against Aziraphale’s chest.

“Anyway, they generally prefer to do whatever things they want to do _to_ me rather than _with_ me. While I can understand the appeal for _them_ , it’s not particularly satisfying for _me_.”

Crowley pondered silently for a moment. “Is that something you might like to do, then, do you think?” He asked Aziraphale, timidly.

“Hmm? What do you mean?” Aziraphale asked, looking back down at Crowley.

“Mmm… _Stuff_. Do stuff, you know, the different things. You could do those things t-to _me_ , if, uh, if you like.”

“Would _you_ like that, Crowley?”

“I don’t really know,” Crowley said thoughtfully. “But it sounds like it might be quite nice, now and then. Maybe not _every_ time, but…” He sighed, twisting slightly to face the ceiling, nestling the back of his head in the crook of Aziraphale’s arm. “But it might be something I’d like quite a bit, now that I think about it.” Crowley flushed a fetchingly endearing shade of red from the tips of his ears down to his chest. “I could be your plaything.”


	6. Just Kidding... Unless...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THEY ARE IN LOVE, your honour.
> 
> But they are extremely stupid.

To say that Aziraphale was excited at Crowley’s offer to become his _plaything_ was an understatement. He felt like a door that had been locked to him for so long had finally opened. Aziraphale enjoyed things that made him feel good. And who didn’t? It felt almost silly to think of it in that manner, as if desiring the pursuit of happiness was really such a foreign concept.

Aziraphale had a good grasp on his understanding of what he liked in a general sense. He understood and appreciated how things appealed to his senses. He also understood that there were things he could do to tease at the senses of others. For example, Aziraphale knew _exactly_ what he sounded like when he ate his cake. He had very much enjoyed how it affected Crowley, but there was still more yet for them to explore.

There were a great many things that Aziraphale had been curious about and wanted to try but had not had the right partners in the past to pursue them. Sometimes it was because the partner had no interest in it, which was fine, of course, but they still expected _him_ to follow through on _their_ interests. Aziraphale found that rather rude, but he generally kept that to himself in the moment.

Many of the things he had wanted to try, but hadn’t, were due to the need for a certain level of trust and consideration in a partner. Those were the ones he wanted to try more than anything, and not just for the physical experience. He was fascinated by the type of connection that could be had between partners. He had been in relationships off and on, yes, but he found, eventually, that he didn’t particularly _like_ most of the men he had been involved with in the past. It’s difficult to build that sort of strong connection when you’re more often than not irritated or otherwise exhausted by the mere presence of your partner. This was not an issue with Crowley. Aziraphale trusted Crowley implicitly. He thought it might be reasonable to assume Crowley trusted him as well, given his offer. Aziraphale _liked_ Crowley, and he knew Crowley liked him as well. Aziraphale _loved_ —

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Aziraphale muttered as he delicately thumbed through his copy of _The Sins of the Cities of the Plain_.

Aziraphale saw this as an opportunity, and it was one he was eager to begin.

They had already been seeing to one another with a hand job here, a blow job there. And who _didn’t_ enjoy a nice bit of frottage now and then? But, as the true hedonist he was, Aziraphale wanted _more_.

Even though Crowley had said it was fine if they never had anal sex, Aziraphale knew Crowley _enjoyed_ being the receiving partner. It wasn’t that Aziraphale _disliked_ giving or receiving, it was just that he didn’t get much from the act itself, physically. True, most of his experience had been on the receiving end, but he had been the one to give now and then over the years.

Given some of what he had intended to ask of Crowley, and the fact that Crowley had elected to cook dinner for them himself rather than going out that evening, Aziraphale decided Crowley could have a _little_ polite buggery, as a treat.

Crowley was just sliding the chopped onions from the cutting board into the pan where he had just finished cooking bacon to caramelize when he heard the knock on the door. Crowley had given Aziraphale the code to enter the building itself after Aziraphale had begun to come by more often, and left the door unlocked for him, but he knew Aziraphale would still knock regardless.

“That’ll be him,” Crowley said, adjusting the flame on the hob. “Figgs, could you be a lamb and evolve thumbs to open the door? No?” Crowley said, untying the apron strings to pull it off and wipe his hands. “I suppose I’ll let it slide _this_ time,” he said on his way to answer the knock, Figgs trotting happily behind him.

“Oh, that smells _Heavenly_ ,” Aziraphale said as he walked through the door.

“It won’t stay that way if I burn the Hell out of it,” Crowley replied, taking Aziraphale’s coat and hanging it in the coat closet. “Make yourself at home. You know where everything is. I’ll be in the kitchen if you care to join me,” Crowley said as he rushed off. “And there’s wine if you do!”

Aziraphale smiled with a sigh as he watched Crowley round the corner. He looked down upon hearing a small mew.

“Hello, Figgs. Now I don’t wish to alarm you, but if you hear something strange later, you needn’t be frightened,” Aziraphale said with a grin. He reached down to pat the cat on the head. “I’m going to fuck your daddy tonight.”

Aziraphale walked into the kitchen to find Crowley in the corner between the two sides of the worktop, cutting boards on either side of him, one for veg and one for meat. He was currently working herbs into butter in a bowl at the center of it all.

“Wine’s over there,” Crowley said without looking up as he tilted his head to his left. Next to the sink, there was an open bottle of wine and two empty glasses. “Help yourself. I’ve got my hands full just now.”

Aziraphale stepped over, pouring them each a glass of wine. He leaned against the sink, bringing the glass to his lips as he watched the flex of Crowley’s shoulder blades while he chopped. He pressed the tip of his tongue gently against the rim of the glass as he pulled the liquid into his mouth, savoring the way it clung to his tongue even after swallowing.

“Are you thirsty?” Aziraphale asked Crowley.

“A little bit,” Crowley said without turning around. “But I’d likely drop the glass as slick as my hands are. I want to get the rest of this done and applied into these hens so I can wash this butter off my hands.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said, stepping in behind him. “Might I offer some assistance?” Aziraphale asked, reaching his arm around Crowley to lift the glass up.

Crowley leaned his head forward, pressing the rim of the glass to his lips so that Aziraphale could tilt it just enough for a sip. He tilted his head back, pushing up with his lip to indicate he was done. “Thank you,” he said, leaning his head back against Aziraphale’s shoulder for a moment when an arm wrapped around his waist to pull him close.

Aziraphale leaned in closer. “You smell of apples, and…” Aziraphale’s face lit up. “And pears.”

“Shampoo is one of my many layers, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale laughed softly, leaning in to smell again.

“You are the most _delightful_ distraction,” Crowley said. “But unless you’ll be sated on the scent of my hair alone, I don’t want to serve you burnt potatoes or game hen.”

Reluctantly, Aziraphale stepped back, allowing Crowley to continue working on the food.

Once the hens and potatoes were in the oven, and Crowley scrubbed the last bits of remaining herbed butter from his hands, he set to cubing cheese and slicing apples for a cheese board.

“Are you trying to tempt me with an apple?” Aziraphale asked, picking up a cube of cheese to pop in his mouth.

Crowley, still facing down where he was slicing, stole a quick glance up at Aziraphale while a grin tugged at one corner of his cheek. “Is it working?” Crowley asked as he put down the knife to drizzle a bit of honey over the board.

Aziraphale plucked a particularly sticky slice of apple up to place in his mouth, slowly licking the honey from his fingers with a grin as he turned to walk back into the living room.

Crowley closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he clutched the edge of the worktop. “Maybe a _little_ more honey,” he said quietly as he reached for the dipper.

They nibbled, occasionally feeding each other bits here and there, and chatted until dinner was ready. They continued into the evening, eating, drinking just enough to enhance their meal, and being all-around merry.

Once dinner was over and the remnants put away, they stood side-by-side at the sink, washing and drying the dishes together.

“I’ve been thinking,” Aziraphale said, drying the fork Crowley had just handed him.

“A dangerous pastime,” Crowley said with a grin as he picked up a serving spoon from the soapy water.

“I _know_ ,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. He was determined not to let Crowley’s fixation on animated films interfere with his plans. “Anyway, I was thinking about what we discussed a few weeks ago, about penetration.”

The soapy spoon in Crowley’s hand flipped out of one hand while the other jerked out to catch it. “Oh?” Crowley asked nonchalantly.

Aziraphale laughed quietly. “Yes. I thought perhaps if you were a—”

“Aziraphale, I swear to fuck, if you’re about to ask me if I’m _amenable_ , I will _scream_.”

Aziraphale huffed out a laugh. “No, you won’t,” he said looking Crowley up and down. “Not _yet_ ,” he grinned.

Once Crowley’s brain caught up to the conversation, he dropped the spoon in his hands back into the water and wiped his hands off on a dry towel. “Dishes are _done_ ,” he said, taking Aziraphale by the wrist and heading to the bedroom.

Crowley hopped onto the bed with excitement. “How are we doing this? Who is doing what? I think you know my personal preference, but I’ll follow your lead.”

Aziraphale laughed. “First things first. You’ll want to be naked for this.”

Crowley’s mouth pressed into a straight line, dimpling his cheek as he nodded. “Right,” he said, pointing to Aziraphale before pulling his shirt over his head and flinging it across the room. “Well, don’t just stand there. You should be starkers, too.”

Aziraphale laughed, unbuttoning his shirt. Crowley flopped over onto his back, unbuttoning his trousers and lifting his hips up, sliding his hands along the waistband to push them down past his hips and thighs.

Somehow, the two of them managed to find their way out of their clothes and into the middle of the bed, Crowley in Aziraphale’s lap. After a nice, leisurely bit of snogging, Aziraphale opened the top drawer of the bedside table, as he had many times previously for some of their _other_ activities, to get a tube of lubricant.

“How do you want me?” Crowley asked. “Like usual?”

Aziraphale stretched his legs out, opening them to make room in front of them. “Sort of. If you would, lie down here, on your side, please,” he instructed. “I’d like to prepare you, if you don’t mind.”

“You know I don’t mind,” Crowley said with a blush. “I like when you do that, too.”

Aziraphale smiled, running his hand up and down Crowley’s hip. They had done this part several times before, at least. Sometimes for a toy, other times for the sake of the act itself. But this time would be ever so slightly different. This time Aziraphale needed to be more careful, more aware. The toys they had used in the past hadn’t necessarily been small, but they were smaller than Aziraphale, and he had no intention of hurting Crowley if he could prevent it.

Aziraphale carefully warmed the bit of lubricant he had poured in his hand, tucking the tube underneath his arm to help warm the rest of it for when it would be needed. He gently massaged the skin at Crowley’s entrance with the tip of one finger. He ran his free hand along Crowley’s legs, guiding one up to rest on his shoulder. “Is that all right?”

Crowley nodded, his arms wrapped around Aziraphale’s right shin. “Y-yeah, ‘sgood.”

Aziraphale probed with the tip of his finger, breaching into Crowley’s warmth. Slowly, almost achingly so for Crowley, Aziraphale worked out a gentle stretch, testing with how he moved his fingers every so often to see how close Crowley was to being ready. He adored the way Crowley moved beneath his hand. _He_ did that. Those reactions were _his_ , they were caused _by_ him, _for_ him, and _in front of_ him for however long he could have them.

Crowley looked up from where he lay to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. There was something different about the way Aziraphale was looking at him tonight. Crowley couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but he _liked_ it. While he usually felt wanted in a general sense around Aziraphale, this felt more specific somehow, more targeted. Whatever Aziraphale wanted to get from this, Crowley would do his best to make sure his angel got it.

Once Aziraphale had managed three fingers inside of Crowley and beginning on a fourth, Crowley reached down to slow his hand.

“I’m ready,” Crowley said. “If you’re still certain you want to do this, I’m ready now.”

Aziraphale smiled adoringly at Crowley. “I haven’t changed my mind. How would you like to go about this?”

“Hmm?” Crowley lifted himself up to lean back on his elbows, licking his lips. “What would _you_ like?”

Aziraphale shook his head slightly. “No, this is for you, but please rest assured, your pleasure is something I will enjoy immensely.”

Crowley’s mind began to race. What if he did the wrong thing? He knew Aziraphale wasn’t really interested in this, but it had been such a long time since Crowley had done this with anyone else. What if he made it worse? What if he made Aziraphale _actually_ hate this type of sex?

Crowley looked up into those intensely ineffable eyes once more. It felt like too much pressure to be seen right now. He felt vulnerable and raw. Here he was, a collection of broken dreams and jagged edges, begging for scraps from a table where he could never be seated to dine. Who could love someone like him?

Could Aziraphale?

Crowley wished it were possible, but he knew better. He knew someone as pure and good as Aziraphale could _care_ about him. That was obvious. It was in Aziraphale’s nature, even if that nature also lent itself to the occasional bitchy side-eye, which Crowley was positively charmed by. It wasn’t a question of _Aziraphale’s_ worth. It was about Crowley’s own.

Outside of Aziraphale’s misguided gaze, Crowley didn’t feel worth particularly much all of the sudden.

“Don’t, don’t do that, please,” Crowley said, looking away.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed. “Do what?”

Unable to look back at Aziraphale, Crowley turned to face the window instead, the moonlight filtering in through it highlighting his features in the darkness of his bedroom. “Don’t look at me as if I hung the stars,” Crowley said with a sigh. “I haven’t done anything to deserve that.”

“What are you talking about?” Aziraphale asked softly.

Crowley’s expression tightened. _Don’t be stupid_ , Crowley thought to himself. _Don’t upset him. He’s done nothing wrong._

Aziraphale reached out to place a grounding hand on Crowley’s hip. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. But if this is because you think I don’t want to, I need you to know that I want to experience this with you _very much_.”

Oh, this was entirely too much for Crowley to process right now. If it weren’t for the very obvious erection pointed at him, he would question the sincerity of Aziraphale’s words. Erection _notwithstanding_ , or _possibly_ standing, he wasn’t sure how that worked in this situation, but he wasn’t particularly certain about anything right now.

Aziraphale wanted this. _Crowley_ wanted this. Why was it so difficult?

Crowley remembered something. He remembered that this was not the first time he had felt this way. It wasn’t even the first time he had felt this way after being opened in preparation.

“C-can I ride you?” Crowley asked in a tiny voice.

“Of course, my dear. Anything you like,” Aziraphale said reassuringly. “Are you ready for me to slick myself, then?” Aziraphale asked, pulling the tube of now body temperature lubricant out from underneath his arm.

Crowley nodded, turning around to face away from Aziraphale. He waited until he heard the tube being opened and closed. Once he felt Aziraphale reaching over to run his hand along the side of Crowley's hip, he knew it was time.

Eyes closed, palms flat on the mattress to brace himself, Crowley lowered his body down, slowly. Knees pressed into the sheets, his legs trembled against the slow stretch, the gentle burn, as he took Aziraphale further inside.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Aziraphale said, closing his eyes and throwing his head back against the headboard. “This is so much _better_ than I remembered.” Not that it had ever been like this. He was overwhelmed by the sensation of simply being _inside_ of Crowley.

Crowley’s breath staggered at the feel of Aziraphale’s hands suddenly sliding down his waist to wrap around him, thumbs dragging slowly back and forth along the points of his hips. Crowley raised himself up, moving his hands to clutch at his own knees, to let himself become accustomed to being so _full_. After an eternity lasting roughly a few minutes, Crowley started to move, breathing deliberately with each shift of his hips as he began to rock back and forth on top of Aziraphale’s lap.

How many times had he done this, Crowley wondered, alone in the dark of his bathroom? Becoming near lost in the sensation, his body began to move as if by autopilot, his arms coming up to wrap around his own body to squeeze, as he had so many times, in a surrogate self-embrace.

Crowley gasped, his eyes flying open wide as Aziraphale’s arms moved up to wrap around Crowley’s chest. Aziraphale’s arms were warm, thick, and strongly muscled with just the right amount of softness. It felt so different from the way his own sharp and slender limbs did, so much more comforting. Crowley knew he wanted to be held in _general_ sense, and always had, but now he craved _Aziraphale’s_ touch, _specifically_.

Crowley began to feel things he couldn’t articulate, all good, _wonderful_ , even, piercing through the existing barriers of fear and loneliness, but with an intensity that he found difficult to contain. Overwhelmed as he was, Crowley stared up at the ceiling, silently trying to will the tears in his eyes back into his body in the hopes that Aziraphale wouldn’t notice.

Aziraphale pulled Crowley back, holding him against his chest. “I can feel you tensing,” Aziraphale whispered into Crowley’s ear. He traced his fingers along Crowley’s arm, up to his shoulder, across his clavicle, and slowly spread his fingers to smooth up along Crowley’s throat, tilting his head back onto his own shoulder. “You’re so quiet when I touch you tonight,” Aziraphale said, tilting Crowley’s head to the side, pressing a kiss at the base of his neck where it met his shoulder. “But I’d like to _hear_ you. Would it help if I touched you _more_ , do you think?”

Crowley shivered as Aziraphale’s other hand dragged slowly down his torso, coming to a stop as fingers wrapped around an aching shaft.

Aziraphale noticed the flex of Crowley’s fingers against his own knees. “Or would you like to touch _me_ as well?”

Crowley hesitated, but nodded.

“Then let’s get you turned around,” Aziraphale said, pressing a light kiss against the shell of Crowley’s ear. “Lie down on your back for me?”

As much as he didn’t want to leave Aziraphale’s embrace, Crowley was willing to do anything he was told at this point. He lifted himself up from Aziraphale and turned around, lying down on his back with his knees up and open in front of Aziraphale.

“Beautiful,” Aziraphale said, climbing forward to position himself above Crowley. “You can wrap your arms and legs around me if you like,” he said, leaning down to kiss and nip along Crowley’s jaw.

“I want to.” The words escaped Crowley’s lips without permission. Once they were out, there was no point in denying them. “I want to hold on to you.” Crowley slid his legs up and over Aziraphale’s hips, locking his ankles together.

Aziraphale reached down between them to guide himself. “Does this make you feel good?” His voice low as he slowly pressed back into Crowley.

Crowley, wet-eyed with pupils blown, looked up at Aziraphale. His lips parted ever so slightly to whisper out a broken affirmation as his back arched up, bringing them closer together.

 _It’s **you** ,_ Aziraphale thought. **_You’re_** _what makes this feel so good. It’s all because of you._

“Hold on to me,” Aziraphale said, holding himself up on one elbow while slipping his other arm around Crowley’s waist, “And don’t let go.” He leaned down to whisper the next words, words that would echo and reverberate throughout the entirety of Crowley: “I’ve got you.”

Crowley’s eyes snapped shut as he tightened his grip around Aziraphale, clinging as if letting go meant falling for an eternity into a bottomless pit. He wanted every millimeter of his skin to be touched by Aziraphale.

Aziraphale began to pick up speed as he moved inside of Crowley. It was unlike anything he had felt before. Perhaps it was the freedom, perhaps it was a change that accompanied his age, he didn’t know, nor did he care. Based on the sounds Crowley was making, it felt extremely good for him as well. Aziraphale was a _little_ concerned that Crowley had become suddenly sexually Scottish, but he’d unpack that later. All that mattered was making certain this felt as good for _Crowley_ as it did for _him_ , and it felt _very_ good for _Aziraphale_.

Aziraphale pushed both arms beneath Crowley, holding him tightly against his chest while arching his back just enough to _almost_ pull out, but not quite “How are you doing this?” Aziraphale panted against Crowley’s ear before snapping his hips back into him sharply.

Crowley cried out, tightening his entire body around Aziraphale as his back arched sharply into him. “ _Fuck_! Oh, God, oh fuck, fuck **_fuck_**! Fuck me, _please_ Aziraphale _!_ Fu—”

Aziraphale pressed his lips against Crowley’s, hungrily swallowing Crowley’s moans to take them inside of himself. He licked into Crowley’s mouth, chasing the taste of profanity-laden pleasure.

Aziraphale raised himself to his knees, picking Crowley up along with him, bouncing him in his lap to keep going. Crowley’s head flew back at the change in sensation. His prostate being hit almost directly in the position Aziraphale was holding him in, he tensed as he gripped into Aziraphale’s shoulder-length hair with a gasp and a growl before his own hips started to buck wildly.

Aziraphale, noticing the erratic movements as he felt Crowley tensing around him, reached down to grasp Crowley’s hips within his strong hands, gripping them and pulling them against himself, grinding their hips together. Crowley began to shake and sob as he came, hard and fast between their bodies.

It was just enough to send Aziraphale tumbling after. He slammed Crowley’s hips down against himself, relaxing as he felt himself emptying out into Crowley. He held Crowley, now limp and breathless against him, in his lap until he felt the last waves move on before he gently lay Crowley back down against the mattress.

Aziraphale, strands of hair sweat-stuck around his face, breathlessly took in the sight beneath him. Crowley lay there, lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes were closed tightly, light glinting delicately off the tears streaming down his temple as his head fell over to the side.

 _You are so beautiful right now,_ Aziraphale thought, a lovesick expression on his face. _Though you always are, but especially now._ _How could anyone see you and **not** love you? Now that I know how loving you feels, I’ll never be the same. I will never again be the man I was before you sauntered into my life. But that’s not a bad thing._

Aziraphale took the clean hand towel Crowley had gotten into the habit of placing in the nightstand and wiped them both off, tossing it towards the hamper. He reached for Crowley’s face, swiping a thumb through the tears to wipe them away. He leaned down to brush his lips against the skin he had just cleared.

“Crowley, I—”

 _Oh, no, I can’t_ , Aziraphale thought in a panic at what he almost said. _I can’t tell you I love you just to lose you because of It, not **now**._

Aziraphale cleared his throat, coming up with an appropriate cover right away. “I should go. I have to be up early anyway.” He didn’t _want_ to leave, but, overwhelmed as he was by what he was feeling, he needed to be alone so he could react.

Crowley barely opened his eyes as he turned to face Aziraphale. He opened his mouth a little wider as if to speak, only letting out a stunted whisper of a sound before closing both his mouth and eyes again as he turned his head back to the side. His eyebrows furrowed as he squeezed a hand on Aziraphale’s arm.

 _Don’t look at me,_ Crowley thought. _You’ll see right through me. Stay, **please** , and for **Someone’s** sake, **hold** me, but don’t look at me right now. I can’t bear it._

Crowley’s eyes flew back open when he felt Aziraphale getting out of bed. He watched helplessly as Aziraphale dressed, breath caught still in his chest so as to make no sound.

“Did you want the door open or closed?”

“Open,” Crowley said roughly, clearing his throat in an attempt to mask the real reason his voice was breaking.

After he heard the front door closing, he saw the tip of a furry tail bobbing along the side of the bed. Figgs jumped up, walking over to lie down on the pillow next to Crowley’s head. Crowley turned to wrap his arm around Figgs, burying his face against the cat’s side. Figgs began to purr as Crowley’s tears disappeared into his soft fur, just as they had done so many times before.

Aziraphale walked gloomily on his way home, thankful for the dark of the night that kept him from running into as many people as he made his way back to Soho. He entered the bookshop through the back, locking the door behind him. He ascended the stairs to enter his flat. Once inside, he dropped everything he was carrying in the floor directly in front of his door. He kicked his shoes off, not bothering to put them away, and staggered to his bedroom.

Aziraphale sat heavily upon the edge of his bed, head in his hands.

“What did I just do?”

Aziraphale and Crowley did not see one another for a few days after that, both trying to figure out what had happened. Well, Aziraphale had, but Crowley hadn't thought much about it after Monday. It wasn’t until Friday when Aziraphale realized that Crowley had not yet showed up, that he made the call.

When Crowley didn’t answer his mobile, Aziraphale tried the landline, knowing Crowley rarely was at the office on Fridays anymore, since Didi had proven to be quite efficient.

Crowley’s antique ansaphone picked up the call.

“ _Hey, this is Anthony J. Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style.”_

“Hello, Crowley?” Aziraphale said into the phone. “Is this on? It, it’s me.”

Aziraphale waited for a moment, hoping Crowley would pick up if he were there. When that didn’t happen, Aziraphale continued. He had already started the message. No sense in hanging up without saying what he needed to say.

“Listen, I—”

“ _What_?” Crowley said tetchily as he snatched up the phone.

 _Oh_ , Aziraphale thought. _He’s definitely upset with me, then._

“Well, I was just wondering,” Aziraphale began, trying to figure out how to apologize. “Could—”

Crowley let out an unholy sound.

“What the devil was _that_?” Aziraphale asked.

“Haven’t you ever heard a sneeze before?”

“Yes, but that sounded more like something out of the Mesozoic era.”

“That’s movies,” Crowley said, sniffing and clearing his throat noisily. “They didn’t really sound like that. That’s all made up by Hollywood and sound stages.”

“Well, obviously. It’s not as if one could go and record a live dinosaur,” Aziraphale said, testily.

“ _Obviously_ ,” Crowley mimicked. “I mean they didn’t sound that way at all. Didn’t have, uh, voice boxes, whatever it’s called, the, the ones like birds have, or even like crocodilians. Just had bony head chambers and throats. More of a low frequency warble, far as we know.”

“How do _you_ know that?” Aziraphale asked skeptically.

“Saw a film. Head chambers.”

Aziraphale sighed, all but forgetting why he called.

“Look, Aziraphale, what do you want? I’m sick and I’d like to get back to bed, but _someone_ decided to call my blasted landline instead of leaving a voicemail after waking me up calling my mobile. You could have sent a text like a _normal_ person, so I wouldn’t have to get out of bed and go traipsing down the hall just to return a blasted call.”

“You’re sick?”

“Y-yeah. Been trying to sleep it off the last couple of days,” Crowley said, attempting to clear his throat only to end up coughing. “But I should be right as rain for our lunch later this week on Friday.”

“Actually, that’s why I called. It _is_ Friday.”

“What? _Already_?” Crowley said, shock evident in his voice. “I thought it was Wednesday!”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Aziraphale said gently.

“I slept through an entire week?” Crowley sounded so confused.

Aziraphale softened considerably. “I suppose if you’ve slept through most of a week, you’ve probably missed several meals. Since we usually would be having lunch right now, I could bring you some chicken noodle soup.”

“Bleh,” Crowley said. “None of that. Nothing with celery. Bring egg drop soup. It’s like proto chicken. The broth of their young. That’s what I’ll have. Bring me the chicken baby soup.” Crowley paused for a moment. “And maybe some paracetamol. I think I’m running another fever.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“I’ll unlock the door. Just come in. I’m going back to bed, and Figgs still doesn’t have thumbs.”

“ _What_?”

Crowley hung up the phone.

Aziraphale sat down at the edge of Crowley’s bed with a tray, a takeaway bowl with a lid, and two cups of tea.

Crowley woke up, struggling to focus his sleepy eyes. “Hey.”

“Hello.”

Crowley sat up slightly as Aziraphale adjusted the pillows behind him, scooting over to sit next to him. He handed Crowley a cup of tea.

Crowley blew on it, taking a sip. “Thank you.”

“I, um,” Aziraphale began. “I’ve missed you this week. I thought you might have been upset with me.”

Crowley considered for a moment, sipping his tea to bide his time. He _had_ been upset about the previous Saturday night, but then the whole being _drastically ill_ thing had gotten in the way of all of that by the time Monday came around. But Aziraphale was here _now_ , and _he_ was the one to call. Surely that counted for _something_ , didn’t it? “If I _were_ ,” Crowley said carefully, “Would you stay for a bit and take care of me? It’s your fault, you know.”

“ _My_ fault?” Aziraphale asked, genuinely confused.

“Yes. I think this is a demonic form of whatever it is you had week prior to last. You sneezed on me.”

“I did no such thing,” Aziraphale huffed.

“Germs pass through body fluids, Aziraphale. You sneezed on me with your dick,” he said, putting his cup down on the tray.

Aziraphale snorted. “Did you see _that_ in a film, too?”

“I _may_ have,” Crowley replied, snuggling up with his arms around Aziraphale’s waist to close his eyes. “Still true, though.”

Aziraphale smiled down at Crowley, stroking fingers through his hair as he fell asleep once again. “May you wake having dreamed of whatever it is you like best,” he whispered.

Things had gone back to normal, for the most part. They still hadn’t talked about that particular Saturday night. This was mostly due to the fact that neither of them had the courage to tell the other, _yes, I know we were only supposed to be fucking, but I think I’ve come down with a severe case of feels, oh, and by the way, I’m desperately in love with you. Ha ha, just kidding… **Unless** …_

They were still having sex just as before, but it was exactly that. Just as _before_. They had come to an unspoken agreement that what they had done that Saturday night was too much, at least, for now. No more anal sex. Everything _else_ was still on the table.

And sometimes underneath it.

Crowley, white-knuckled, gripped the edge of the table with one hand. He attempted to maintain a casual look as he propped his chin on the knuckles of his other hand. That angelic bastard just _sat_ there, smugly eating his cake while dabbing primly at his lips with a napkin. Meanwhile, beneath the tablecloth, his foot was shoved ankle-deep between Crowley’s legs, working with an almost miraculous precision. Crowley closed his eyes, thankful for the dark glasses that hid them, and tried to focus on his own breathing.

“Is everything all right here?”

Crowley turned towards the waiter with a plastered-on smile. “Oh, yeah,” he managed to squeak out with a nod. “Everything’s fine.” His eyebrows shot up suddenly as he gasped. “But I do believe my friend here could use another slice of cake, please,” he said, turning back towards Aziraphale.

Aziraphale beamed fondly, shoving his foot even further underneath Crowley, slowly pointing his toes upward.

Gabriel and Bea had been inviting Crowley to come along with Aziraphale more often lately. Today, Gabriel was teaching Crowley the gentle art of MMOFPS Warfare.

“Whoa,” Crowley said as Gabriel scrolled through the preselected characters to the custom option.

“What?”

“Go, uh, go back one. That’s a custom character? Who the fuck is _that_ supposed to be?”

“That’s _my_ custom character,” Gabriel said with a frown.

“That giant purple helmeted warrior?”

Upon hearing the loud snort followed by a harsh gasp from behind the couch, all three of them turned around to see a red-faced Bea covering her mouth to try to muffle her laughter.

“I, I, I told—” she gasped, trying to speak but unable to.

“Great,” Gabriel said. “You’ve broken my wife.” He turned back around to look at her. “I _know_ what you’re trying to say, and it’s _not_ funny.”

“Yes, it is, you _dick_!” She squeaked out in a laugh.

Crowley’s face shifted slowly as he found clarity. He grinned, looking at Bea and nodding as he began to laugh as well.

“I’ll just get Aziraphale’s character set up, then, if you two _demons_ don’t mind,” Gabriel said, plucking the controller from Crowley’s hands.

Gabriel selected the body type option, starting with his own template.

“Oh, good Lord,” Aziraphale said.

“Whoa, there!” Crowley said with a laugh.

“What’s wrong?” Gabriel asked.

“It’s… It’s rather muscly, don’t you think?” Aziraphale said, wrinkling his nose.

“You’ve got Abziraphale up there. Can you tone it down a bit? I mean, he’s strong, but… Soft.” Crowley said, a faint smile quirking his lip up. “May I?” He took the controller from Gabriel’s hand and adjusted the sliders to maintain the muscle but round out the middle. “Perfect,” he said, handing the controller back.

Bea smiled at the look Aziraphale had on his face.

“I think…” Gabriel said, toggling through accessory options, “Let’s make you the leader of a battalion. I’m going to give you a medal.”

“I don’t _want_ a medal,” Aziraphale said flatly.

“Oh, they’ve got wings?” Crowley said excitedly, shifting to pull his sock feet up underneath himself on the couch. “Give Aziraphale wings _right now_ ,” Crowley demanded.

Gabriel moved the selection to the white feathered wings on the screen. “I think these wings are probably close enough to his actual wings,” Gabriel said with a grin.

“I think you may be correct,” Crowley said, studying them carefully once they were enlarged on the selection screen.

“You know about those, then, do you?” Gabriel asked with a smirk.

“I do, yes,” Crowley said calmly.

With Aziraphale’s character sorted, complete with beige long coat, golden kilt, and a pair of glorious white wings, it was time to design Crowley’s character.

“Nope!” Crowley said, pointing at the muscle-bound redheaded golem on the screen. “No, no Swoley. I want it to look like _me_. You can have your Dickvatar if you want, but I just want something simple. Just… Make it tall and thin like me, and dress it in all black, maybe a little red, but just, black. Dark. I don’t want to stand out as a giant purple or cream-colored target,” Crowley said.

“Here,” Gabriel said. “You pick, then.”

Crowley took the controller, focusing again on the screen. “Oh, I quite like that,” Crowley said, selecting a skin-tight black snakeskin jumpsuit.

“That doesn’t look terribly practical,” Aziraphale said, arching an eyebrow at the screen. “How _does_ one maneuver in something that tight?”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed with a cheeky grin. “You know very well how,” he muttered.

Gabriel and Bea exchanged _a look_ before Bea slipped a five-pound note into her husband’s hand. He shoved it in his pocket quickly with a smug I-told-you-so grin.

“It’s a _game_ , Aziraphale,” Gabriel said. “I like the clothes, but it’s just the look of the character. You’ll have the same abilities in that as you would in something with more layers.”

“Still doesn’t seem very helpful,” Aziraphale said with a shrug.

“Says _you_ , Mr. _Tartan Is Stylish_ ,” Crowley said, wobbling his head side to side playfully.

Gabriel sighed, turning back to Crowley. “You can change the color, too,” he said, pointing to the toggle. “Just hold that down and see what you like.”

Settling on the snakeskin suit in black with a red apron and black goggles, they were ready to play.

It had been largely uneventful for about ten minutes before Gabriel suddenly perched on the edge of his seat, his face stony and eyes narrowed only to widen in a combination of disbelief and irritation.

“You’re a disobedient little _brat_ , and I hope someone tells your father!”

“Oh, no,” Bea groaned. “It’s _them_.” She grabbed her controller and the other headsets from the shelf.

“Who?” Crowley asked.

“ ** _Them_** ,” Gabriel growled through gritted teeth, narrowing his eyes once more.

“You might as well get comfortable,” Bea said, plopping down next to Gabriel on the couch with a controller in hand. “We’re not going to be able to do anything else until this is sorted.” She handed Crowley and Aziraphale each a headset with a color-sticker to match the one on their controllers. “You’ll need these now.”

“I’ve _told_ you, I _don’t_ know how to play this,” Aziraphale said, looking suspiciously at the headset.

“It’s already paired to your controller,” Bea said quietly. “Just turn it on and it should start up.”

“Once you’re ready, follow my lead,” Gabriel said, leaning forward to watch the screen with eagle-eye perception as he tracked his prey. “Gotcha, dude!” Gabriel whooped as he took down the character with red armor.

“For your _information_ , I’m not a _dude_ ,” the young voice said over the headset. “I’m a _woman_.”

Another small voice spoke “ _Actually_ , Pepper, you’re—”

“Shut _up_ , Wensleydale,” Pepper growled.

Gabriel grinned wildly as he picked off the little one.

Upon hearing how young the voices coming from the headset were, Crowley was a bit surprised. “Not the kids,” he said, looking back and forth between the screen, Gabriel, and Aziraphale. “You can’t kill _kids_!”

Aziraphale nodded slowly, lips pressed into a tight line as he looked at the screen uncomfortably, listening to Gabe explaining to a thirteen-year-old what he had just done to his little animated body.

“He’s normally not like this,” Bea whispered as she leaned in towards Crowley.

“Yes, he is,” Aziraphale leaned in to whisper in response.

Bea glared at Aziraphale before turning back to Crowley. “This feud, this _great war_ , between Gabe and those kids has been going on in this game for quite some time now. The seek each other out just to fuck with one another. I don’t even know how it started, but I haven’t been able to end it.”

“Who is this?”

“Adam Young,” Gabriel said with distaste.

“I work with his father,” Bea explained. “And when he was talking about Adam and his friends playing online, I mentioned that Gabriel does, too.” The smile she flashed did not reach her eyes.

“How did you end up with a group of children as _adversaries_?” Crowley asked, still in disbelief.

“He _knows_ what he did,” Gabriel growled.

“So, do you, _old man_!” Adam retorted via headset.

“That skinny snake is open!” Another voice yelled. “Close in, Adam! You’ve got ‘im!”

Crowley saw a black-cloaked figure with glowing red eyes and golden curls alongside what appeared to be an ambulatory pile of junk coming right for him. He tried to fire, letting off a few rounds to take out the messy one before running out of ammo.

“Who is who?” Aziraphale asked, squinting at the multiple views on the screen.

“That’s him, the curly one,” Crowley said, pointing with one hand while trying to make his character run with the other. “Shoot him! Save me!”

“Perhaps we should wait.”

“What? Until he grows up? I’m out of ammo! Shoot him, Aziraphale!” Crowley shouted, wide eyed. If he weren’t so caught up in the adrenaline of it all, he might have been a bit concerned with himself just then.

“I don’t know whose team I’m on!” Aziraphale shouted back, accidentally hitting the toggle to fire upwards.

During the chaos, Adam managed to discorporate Gabriel’s character.

“Shi—” Gabriel caught himself before he finished his profanity, course-correcting. He might be willing to systematically hunt a child digitally in a game, but he wasn’t about to actually cuss one out. “Sugar!”

“Hey, we gotta go. Mum says it’s time for dinner. Bye!” Adam said into the headset, all four of them logging off immediately after.

“I _thought_ you were on _my team_ ,” Gabriel said, slinging his headset off and rubbing his eyes with his hands.

Bea rubbed Gabriel’s shoulders reassuringly. “You almost had him this time, babe. You _did_.”

“Well, at least we know whose _fault_ it is,” Gabriel glared towards Crowley and Aziraphale, who simply smiled back.

Though they still were only dancing around the subject of their first, and last, attempt at anal sex, both were curious about what might happen if they did it again, but terrified of losing control once more.

Aziraphale had been so nervous about it, he hadn’t even asked Crowley about his slipping into another accent for fear of bringing the whole situation up again.

Instead, they had begun a few more _experimental_ ventures, the most recent of which led to Crowley being perched with a cushion under his knees on the worktop in the bookshop kitchenette, stripped naked, blindfolded, with his hands tied above his head on a pot plant hook. In addition to all of this, after reassuring him that Gabriel had been instructed to call before showing up, Aziraphale had asked Crowley to bring something with a suction cup. That _something_ was currently taking up residence in his _back garden_.

Aziraphale sat in a rolling chair in front of Crowley, fully clothed, though his sleeves were rolled up, reminding Crowley just how deep his oral fixation went.

Hands that were tied so neatly together at the wrist and fastened to the wall clasped together as if in prayer above Crowley’s head. On his knees, his back arched and he cried out as he grew close, but not quite, to coming. “Angel, _have mercy!”_

 _Oh_ , Crowley thought, his eyes widening beneath his blindfold _. I can’t believe I just said that._ He shook his head. _No, no no no. Maybe he didn’t hear me._ He began to doubt that possibility when he felt Aziraphale’s mouth sliding off and away from him.

After what felt like several minutes of silence, Crowley strained to listen for any sound, any sense that he wasn’t alone in the room. Crowley knew he had heard the chair as it scooted back, but had he heard the door? He couldn’t be certain.

Crowley sighed, hanging his head. “Well, that’s just perfect, then, isn’t it? He’s left me here, bound and blindfolded, impaled on a suction-cup cock with my dick out for someone to find when they come in for work tomorrow.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” Aziraphale replied quietly from across the room.

Crowley’s head snapped up, pointed towards the direction of the sound, gasping with relief.

“You called me Angel.”

“Ngk,” Crowley said. _Well, there’s no denying it now,_ Crowley thought _. He **definitely** heard me._ _Time to do a little damage control to hopefully salvage things, at least a little bit._ “I know, and ’m _so_ sorry. It just slipped out in the moment. I couldn’t help it. I don’t know what I was thinking. You know, it, it doesn’t _have_ to be a _thing_. I—”

“Would you do it again?”

“What?”

“Say it again,” Aziraphale said, swallowing audibly. “Please.”

“You liked it?” Crowley asked, shocked.

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley, still unsure of what was happening, took a deep breath to gather his nerve enough to speak the endearment once more.

“A- _Angel_.”

Sitting back in the chair, Aziraphale closed his eyes to let that wash over him. No one had ever called him that before. No one had ever called him _any_ term of endearment before, really. For a moment, he was thankful that Crowley’s blindfold wouldn’t allow him to see whatever this was doing to him. That moment ended quickly when he realized how much he wanted to see the look in Crowley’s eyes if he would say it once more.

Aziraphale stood up, reaching for Crowley’s face. He flinched slightly at the unexpected brush of a hand against his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, pulling his hand back.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Crowley said quickly. “I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. It surprised me, but I didn’t mind it.”

Aziraphale leaned in closer this time and reached for him again, sliding his hand around to loosen the blindfold enough to pull down.

Crowley closed his eyes tightly against the sudden invasion of so much bright light. When he opened his eyes again, they were blurry and out of focus. At best, he could make out a figure standing before him. He blinked a few times, taking in the fuzzy image of what appeared to be Aziraphale, loosely flowing platinum curls illuminated and glowing like a halo.

“You really _are_ an Angel,” Crowley whispered without thinking. “You’re _beautiful_ ,” he said as his eyes adjusted just enough to notice the flush that spread across Aziraphale’s nose and cheeks. Realizing what he had just done, again, he began to panic. “Oh, shit, I didn’t mean to—”

Aziraphale caught Crowley’s words in his mouth as he pressed up against him. “Shh,” Aziraphale shushed, licking against Crowley’s lips. “Be quiet and let me fuck you.”

Crowley shivered with a combination of fear and excitement. He _wanted_ this, but it terrified him. He watched quietly as Aziraphale undressed, anticipation growing stronger with each layer removed.

Once everything was removed, Aziraphale reached for the lubricant that was next to Crowley. Aziraphale pushed him back when he tried to move off of the dildo behind him.

“What are you doing? I thought you wanted to fuck me. It’s all right, Aziraphale. I don’t mind.”

“Shhh,” Aziraphale said, bringing his fingers to Crowley’s lips. He pulled the blindfold back down over Crowley’s eyes, tightening it gently. “You’ll see. Or, rather, _feel_.”

Aziraphale poured a bit of lubricant into his hand, lifting Crowley’s bollocks up and out of the way to apply a generous amount of lubrication between his thighs, front to back.

“Close your legs, please,” Aziraphale said.

“Why?” Crowley asked, still doing as he was told regardless.

“I’m going to fuck your thighs while I also fuck you on that dildo you’ve brought,” Aziraphale said. “And perhaps a few other things as well.”

Though Crowley could not see it, he could practically _hear_ the wicked grin in Aziraphale’s voice just then. It made his own cock stiffen harder than it was earlier, precum beading along the tip.

The sensation of the first press of Aziraphale’s cock between Crowley’s legs was thrilling, but when the tip brushed up against his perineum, pushing against the dildo inside of him, he almost saw white right then in spite of the blindfold. The sound he let out made Aziraphale growl, biting gently along Crowley’s collarbone as he began to thrust harder, both between Crowley’s thighs as well as pushing him back against the wall, which caused Crowley to make yet another of those delicious, delightful _noises_ that Aziraphale enjoyed so much.

Sometimes chain reactions are fun.

Aziraphale began running his hands up and down along Crowley’s skin, reaching down to stroke along his cock before quickly running back up his chest. Aziraphale kept trading off between both hands, stroking along different parts of Crowley’s body. 

Crowley's toes curled and back arched. He was having trouble processing all the sensations, and he couldn’t remember a time when he felt more _alive_.

“I can’t see you,” Crowley said, looking around wildly from beneath the blindfold. “I can’t… I can’t tell how many… I…” Crowley let out a rumbling whine as Aziraphale took the hand on his cock off to squeeze against his hip while the one that had just traced down his side took over in its place. “You, you’re like a real angel, but instead of a wheel of eyes, you’re all dicks and hands,” Crowley panted.

Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s nose wrinkling against his throat in amusement. “ _Be not afraid_ ,” Aziraphale laughed, nipping at Crowley’s jaw as he thrust further between Crowley’s thighs, brushing his perineum more firmly as he pushed deeper, switching his hands again at the same time.

“Keep blaspheming like that and I’m not gonna last,” Crowley whined, squirming underneath Aziraphale’s random, erratic touches and rhythmic thrusts.

Aziraphale reached up to grab ahold of Crowley’s hair, pulling his head over to the side. Crowley cried out, not from pain, but from surprise.

“You’re going to last long enough to give me what I want,” Aziraphale whispered, his breath hot and heavy against Crowley’s ear.

“A-anything. Anything you want.”

“You _know_ what I want, Crowley,” Aziraphale panted, quickening his pace along with the intensity of his grip. “Say it.”

“Angel,” Crowley gasped out.

“Again,” Aziraphale rumbled, his temple pressed against Crowley’s, his breaths coming louder and more desperate.

“ _Angel_!”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and bit his lip, savoring the sound. It was a heady rush, and he wanted more. “Again!” Aziraphale growled, pressing his body firmly against Crowley with a powerful thrust of his hips.

“A-angel, Angel, Angelangelangel,” Crowley cried out, almost weeping through his litany as their shared communion spilled onto his stomach and between his legs.

Aziraphale unhooked Crowley's wrists from the plant hook, climbed down from the worktop, then pulled Crowley down from his perch. He untied him gently, dimmed the lights before removing the blindfold, and carried him over to the couch to hold him, laying Crowley out on top of himself while he massaged his stiff, aching muscles.

Crowley felt like some sort of liquid, like whatever it was that slides off a duck’s back. He was so relaxed laying on top of Aziraphale. He felt good. He felt _safe_.

He felt as though he had his very own Guardian Angel.

“Well, _that_ was a thing,” Crowley said happily, closing his eyes and nuzzling against Aziraphale's chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley uses Fekkai Apple Cider clarifying shampoo once a week.


	7. Cry Havoc and Let Slip The Dongs of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ROAD TRIP!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: A bit of excessive drinking to cope with overwhelming feelings, and some drunk sex between two otherwise consenting idiots.

Aziraphale looked down at his handiwork. He ran his fingertips along the intricately knotted red cords that crisscrossed along Crowley’s shoulders and down his arms behind the chair. Aziraphale gently reached down to the twisted cords that ran down the center of Crowley’s torso. Crowley’s cock had been pulled between a series of knots before the cord branched out across each of his spread-open thighs. The knotted pattern continued, matching the pattern on his shoulders to bind his knees and shins to the outside of the chair legs. As he spread his fingers out, pressing beneath the cord across Crowley’s stomach, his back arched. Aziraphale noticed a slight wince in his expression as he did so.

“My dear, are you uncomfortable? Shall I untie you now?”

Crowley shook his head, grimacing as he did so. “I can take it.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together, tilting his head in frustration. “I suppose I’ll have to take that at face value, because you have yet to use your safe word.” Aziraphale said as he stepped behind Crowley, wrapping his fingers through the coppery strands that fell against the back of the chair. He made a fist in Crowley’s hair, pulling down slowly but firmly to tilt his head back until they were looking into one another’s eyes. “And I’m sure you’re aware of how _disappointed_ I would be in you for not using it when you needed it. I don’t have to tell you how _upsetting_ it would be for me to do something with you that you did not enjoy, or actually brought you harm.”

Crowley’s eyes widened in concern. He hadn’t considered that, not at all.

“You do realize that it isn’t a test of your endurance, don’t you? You won’t please me if I’m too distracted by worrying that I’m hurting you.”

Crowley pouted, but continued to listen as Aziraphale circled the rest of the way around him, coming to stand between Crowley’s open legs.

“I want to _know_ your limits, not _push_ them.” Aziraphale ran his fingertips down Crowley’s chest and sides, gently at first, but with increasing pressure as he moved towards Crowley’s hips.

Crowley leaned his head back, closing his eyes as he inhaled slowly, but deeply, through his nose. He loved it when Aziraphale did this. The build from a light tickle to a deep pressure set his skin alive with need. Crowley opened his eyes once Aziraphale’s hand came to rest on his hip, eagerly searching the angel’s face to guess his next move.

Aziraphale leaned over Crowley, noses near touching, to look him in the eyes. “Crowley, I want you to understand something right now. If we are to continue _any_ of this, I need you to know that you are not to do _anything_ you are uncomfortable doing merely because you _think_ I might want that.” He leaned in a bit closer, brushing their cheeks against one another as he whispered into Crowley’s ear. “Because I _don’t_.”

Crowley’s chest heaved with excitement at the way Aziraphale’s voice rumbled against his ear. It almost didn’t even matter what he had said.

 _Oh, fuck_ , Crowley thought. _What **did** he say? _Crowley made a quick attempt to backtrack a few seconds in his mind to process Aziraphale’s words. “Right,” he said. “Anything you want.”

“But?” Aziraphale asked, pulling his face back to look into Crowley’s eyes with an arched brow.

“But n-nothing I _don’t_.”

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale said with a pleased grin followed by a quick peck on the tip of Crowley’s nose. “Now, while we’re on the subject, are there any things you’ve been curious about, perhaps, that you might be interested in trying? Even things you’ve been frightened to ask for? There’s no shame in asking for what you want, just as there’s no shame in stating you _don’t_ want to do something.”

Crowley thought for a minute. “Sometimes I wonder if you might like to choke me.”

Aziraphale winced slightly. “Ah, I’m afraid I’m not quite comfortable with that, no. I would definitely be too concerned with hurting you. I, I don’t think I could.”

“Oh, well, yeah, I, I mean, yeah, o-okay, I understand,” Crowley sputtered.

“I’m not judging you for asking,” Aziraphale reassured him. “I’ve read up on it quite a bit out of curiosity. It’s just not for me,” Aziraphale smiled warmly, gently stroking his knuckles against Crowley’s cheek.

“I’m just saying you _could_ , i-if you _wanted_ to.”

“It’s not something I am comfortable with doing _to_ you, no. However, I’ve heard many find it quite pleasurable. If you felt like it was something you might like to try, there are several techniques for self-indulgence. If you wanted to try any of those, I would be quite pleased to be present for them to ensure nothing went wrong. I simply do not wish to be the one _doing_ the actual choking, you see.”

“Nah,” Crowley drawled. “I really was just curious if that was something _you_ would like to do.”

Aziraphale looked him in the eye. “Just promise me that if you do decide to try that, you won’t do it alone.” Aziraphale looked away as his face shifted briefly from concern to something that stabbed at Crowley’s heart as he spoke. “If something were to happen to you, I…” Aziraphale cleared his throat and let out a sigh before turning back to Crowley with a warm smile, the whites of his eyes glistening and slightly pink. “Just promise me.”

“I promise,” Crowley nodded. He would do anything to keep his angel from being so sad.

“Excellent,” Aziraphale said, rubbing gently along Crowley’s arms where the bindings were knotted. “Now, I’ll ask you again. How are you doing? Getting stiff or sore?”

“No, it—” Crowley stopped himself from answering automatically. They had _literally_ just discussed that. “A, a _bit_ ,” Crowley admitted. “But just in my shoulder blades and one of my knees. It’s not _bad_ , though. I can go a bit longer, I think,” he said, leaning his head back against the chair he was elaborately tied to.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and quirked his lips at Crowley as he pondered something. “What would you say to a nice hot bath?”

Crowley lifted his head as a dopey grin spread across his face. “With bubbles?”

Aziraphale carefully untied each knot in the cord, rubbing the marked skin where the bindings had once been as he moved along. Once completed, he wound the cords back into a bundle, telling Crowley to wait in the chair as he stepped into the bathroom.

Crowley smiled and leaned his head back, listening to the sound of water running from the other room. “Oh, you clever angel,” he whispered to himself. He could smell the familiar rose and sunflower scented bubble baths that Aziraphale knew Crowley enjoyed mixing together. He lifted his head up as he called out to Aziraphale. “When did you pick those up?”

“After you mentioned it was one of your many layers,” Aziraphale said with a laugh as he poked his head through the bathroom door.

Crowley smiled with a laugh and a contented sigh and put his head back once more. When the sound of the water had stopped, and Aziraphale had reentered the room fully, Crowley made as if to stand.

“No,” Aziraphale said firmly.

“No?” Crowley questioned.

“No,” Aziraphale repeated kindly as he approached. “Allow me,” he said, scooping an arm underneath Crowley’s knees while wrapping one around his back.

“I can walk, Angel, I’m not _that_ _sore_.”

“Shh,” Aziraphale said as he carried Crowley to the bathroom. “This is my favorite part,” he said. “The aftercare.”

Crowley had remarked previously about how deceptively strong Aziraphale was. All the angel could do was laugh and remind Crowley of just how large and heavy many antique books were. Rearranging inventory in his shop was practically like lifting weights all day. Added to that, the proper back care of bending with his legs instead of his back ensured he _never_ missed a leg day.

Aziraphale carefully put Crowley down just in front of the tub, holding his hand as Crowley gingerly put his toe in to test the water temperature before stepping in all the way to sit down.

“Oh, this is _perfect_ ,” Crowley moaned with delight as he sank into the heated, perfumed sudsy water, closing his eyes in bliss. _He takes such good care of me,_ Crowley thought. _I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve **him**. But if I pretend, maybe…_

Crowley’s thoughts were interrupted by Aziraphale’s hand behind his neck. “Lift up a bit, my dear,” he said quietly. He placed one hand over Crowley’s eyes as the other carefully poured warm water over his hair. Aziraphale poured a little shampoo into his hands, rubbing them together before finger-combing through Crowley’s hair to begin washing it.

“Next time, we’ll do this at mine. I have a garden tub,” Crowley said, opening his eyes to look up at Aziraphale. “Plenty of room for both of us.”

“Hmm,” Aziraphale hummed appreciatively. “And those lovely windows around it. Might do for an evening of watching the rain,” he said, gently massaging his fingertips through Crowley’s sudsy hair.

“Sounds nice,” Crowley said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back into Aziraphale’s touch.

Not long after their conversation regarding things they might like to try, along with things they wouldn't be comfortable with, they had begun to work on a list of things. After dinner one evening, as they were walking back to Crowley’s flat for a nightcap, they happened across a particular sort of shop. The two exchanged curious and excited grins and stepped inside.

“Hello,” a voice said pleasantly as they entered.

“Hello,” Aziraphale replied.

A woman with auburn hair pinned up on her head and ruffled sleeves stepped forward. “Is there anything I could help you to find?”

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale said. “Thank you, but we’re just looking for now.”

The woman smiled and nodded before turning around and returning to her seat at the counter. She poured a glass of water from the pitcher next to her, sipping as she looked down at her phone.

“I had no idea this was even here,” Crowley said, looking around the quaint little sex shop. “But I don’t usually go this way to get home.”

“They’re all about in Soho,” Aziraphale said quietly. “But I haven’t ever actually been _in_ one, before now.”

“ _Really_?” Crowley said. “Where did you get the… The—”

“Internet,” Aziraphale said. “After reading up on shibari, I found a shop online that sold and shipped supplies. Had it sent to the shop. Newt actually signed for it.”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “How did you explain _that_?”

“Oh, I got to it before he could open it,” Aziraphale said, blushing slightly. “But it probably would have been fine regardless. He knows sometimes I get personal packages delivered to the shop. He’s a very polite young man. He only opens things that are on the shipping list at the counter.”

Crowley nodded, pursing his lips. “Good lad.”

They wandered side by side through shop, marveling at the different items on display. Aziraphale picked up a white riding crop with gold accents, swishing it a few times. “I wonder if they have other things in these colors?”

Crowley’s eyes went wide. He was open to a lot of things, but that was a little more than he was ready for, he thought.

Aziraphale noticed the look on his face. “Oh, no, you misunderstand. I like the _colors_ of it, but I wouldn’t be comfortable striking you with it. You know I don’t want to hurt you, and clearly you don’t want that, either.” He put the riding crop back down, reaching elsewhere on the shelf. “I was actually hoping to find something like this in those colors,” Aziraphale said, holding up a soft, wide cushioned paddle in natural wood and pink fabric.

Crowley visibly relaxed. “Y-yeah, actually, that one looks quite nice. I wouldn’t mind that at all. Might like it, as a matter of fact.”

Aziraphale beamed. “I’ll keep a lookout for something like that, then,” he said, looking up, down, and back up at Crowley. "Maybe something textured," he grinned, imagining the lines on Crowley's skin.

Crowley smiled fondly as he watched Aziraphale continue down the aisle of the sex shop.

“Oh, Crowley, these light up!” Aziraphale said, spinning the blue double-headed display dildo in his hand like an accomplished swordsman.

“Oh, do they, now?” Crowley said with wide-eyed excitement as he caught up to the angel, quickly reaching for the red display model. “Whoosh,” Crowley said, feet shoulder width apart as he held the red jelly dong aloft before smacking Aziraphale across the hip with it.

“Oh!” Aziraphale cried out, slinging his arm out to deflect the next blow.

“Whoosh,” Crowley repeated with a devious grin.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed. “What the devil are you doing?”

“We’re having a light saber fight.” Crowley shrugged, tilting his head with an arch of his brow. “Well, a _light up dildo_ fight, but the rules are the same, essentially.”

“No, I know what a swordfight is, Crowley. I mean why are you making those sounds?”

“The noises?” Crowley’s brows furrowed as he pulled his head back in confusion. “They’re important.”

Aziraphale stared at him until Crowley sheepishly turned around to put the dildo back.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, stepping in behind Crowley. “Don’t do _mine_.” He thwacked Crowley on the back of the head with the blue light up dildo. “Whoosh,” he said calmly.

Crowley’s eyes went wide with delight as he turned slowly around, dragging the glowing red double-header back off of the shelf. “Oh, them’s fightin’ words, Angel, and this…” He nodded to his right hand, his fingers wiggling as he transferred the dildo into it, “Is a _fightin’_ _hand!”_

Aziraphale giggled in the manner of a grown and responsible adult as he slung the long, blue jelly dildo against Crowley’s knee and turned to walk quickly and politely through the shop. It wouldn’t be proper to run in such an establishment, after all.

Crowley followed, matching Aziraphale step for step. He slung the red dildo out to catch Aziraphale’s bottom with the tip just as the shop proprietor approached.

“Gentlemen,” the woman in a grey suit said, pinching the bridge of her nose with a heavy sigh. “I do believe it’s time the two of you left the shop.”

She held out her hands expectantly, waiting for them to return the merchandise to her, then pointed towards the door.

They giggled as they were escorted out of the shop. After a loud crack of thunder and a flash of lightning, rain began to pelt down all around them.

Aziraphale opened his coat, holding up one side as Crowley scooted closer to him to get underneath. They ran through the rain, wrapped together in Aziraphale’s overcoat, laughing as they splashed through the quickly-forming puddles on their way to Crowley’s building.

They stopped to wait for the traffic light so they could cross the street as the rain poured around them. Maybe it was the rain, maybe it was being wrapped so close to one another, or perhaps even it was the simple joy of letting go and being silly from earlier, but when lips found lips, they didn’t argue. They stood there, kissing in the rain, wrapped around one another even as the pedestrian crossing sign lit up and went dark again. Eventually, someone approached them from behind, informing them that it was safe to walk now since they were otherwise distracted. They broke apart, quickly thanking the stranger before running hand in hand across the way to Crowley’s building.

Drenched as they were, along with a few other needs, they elected to take the lift rather than the stairs.

As soon as the doors closed, Aziraphale had Crowley pinned into the corner, pressing hard against him. “Watch the lights,” he said breathlessly as he hitched up Crowley’s legs to wrap around him. Aziraphale reached beneath Crowley to lift him up high enough to line them up, rolling his hips firmly into Crowley.

Crowley groaned, biting his lip, but dutifully did as he was told, watching the lights for any indication that someone might be calling the lift before it reached the top floor. He leaned his head back into the corner, holding onto one rail with his left hand while his right foot pressed against the rail on the other wall, as Aziraphale continued to grind against him.

“ _Fuck_ , Angel, we’re almost there,” Crowley panted.

“ _Already_?” Aziraphale said with a grin.

Crowley narrowed his eyes at Aziraphale. “No, not _there_ there, you idiot. _My flat_. We’re almost there.”

Aziraphale laughed and gave a particularly forceful thrust at that purely to hear the noise Crowley made before lowering him back to his feet and straightening up their clothes.

As soon as the lift doors opened on Crowley’s floor, the two raced down the hall. Crowley fumbled for his keys before finally getting the door open. He slammed it behind them, kicking his shoes off into the air. “Bedroom,” he said, grabbing Aziraphale by the wrist.

As soon as the bedroom door closed, they stripped each other of their wet clothing. Aziraphale lifted Crowley up to place him in the middle of the bed, positioning himself between his legs and on top of him. Aziraphale pressed warm, gentle kisses along Crowley’s shoulders and up his neck as he lowered his hips against Crowley’s own.

“Angel,” Crowley whispered, taking Aziraphale’s face between his hands. “Would you fuck me?”

Aziraphale stilled, closing his eyes.

“ _Please_ , Aziraphale,” Crowley pleaded, looking up at him.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said. They hadn’t actually talked about what happened the night they made their first attempt at anal sex. The feelings that had flooded him still felt as fresh now as they had a month prior, and combined with the rest of the evening, maybe stronger. Aziraphale _wanted_ to. He wanted to let go of _everything_ holding him back. He wanted not to simply fuck, but to _make love_ with Crowley.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Crowley didn’t love him. Couldn’t, he thought. Aziraphale was simply a very good friend, and as very good friends, they provided a service to each other. It was a mercy, really, wasn’t it? That’s all. Crowley trusted him enough that he could be vulnerable, could be taken care of _sexually_ , but that’s all it was. Why would someone as complex and bold as Crowley _love_ someone as outwardly boring as him?

“ _Angel_ , I nee—” Crowley caught himself. “Want you inside of me so much. If, if you don’t feel like being on top for that, then let me do it. Let me fuck myself on you." Aziraphale’s shocked expression provided Crowley enough time to guide him to lie down on his back. Crowley climbed up on top to straddle Aziraphale. “If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. But if you do, _oh_ , _Angel_ , I’ll fuck you _so_ good, _I promise_ ,” Crowley said, leaning down to place his ear against Aziraphale’s chest while grinding his hips gently against Aziraphale.

 _You beautiful creature,_ Aziraphale thought as he smoothed his palms up the tops of Crowley’s thighs to come to rest on his hips. _I can’t resist you, not when we both want this so desperately._

Aziraphale nodded, reaching towards the night stand for the lubricant and a towel. Crowley leaned over him to get them when Aziraphale couldn’t quite reach, and arranged the items as they usually did for sex, regardless of the type. Aziraphale pulled Crowley back down, bringing their lips together. He had one hand in Crowley’s hair while the other was between Crowley’s legs preparing him. When they were ready, Aziraphale gave himself a couple of firm strokes to slick himself. Crowley sat up, balancing himself with his palms on Aziraphale’s chest, and with Aziraphale’s help, guided the angel’s cock towards his prepared entrance.

Aziraphale marveled at how lovely Crowley looked, lips parted and head back, simply sitting there on his cock.

“Angel,” Crowley whispered, and Aziraphale felt his cock grow harder still inside of Crowley as he began to move on top of him.

Crowley peeked down at Aziraphale to find him looking intently at him. Crowley closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out some of the visual stimulation so he could keep control of himself. It wouldn’t do to blurt out something ridiculous, like admitting he loved Aziraphale. He had already done that once. He was lucky Aziraphale had been too distracted to catch on to what he said that day they had been discussing languages.

Crowley began to increase speed, gritting his teeth and pressing harder against Aziraphale with his hands as well as his hips. He gasped, eyes flying open at the sensation of strong hands gripping hard at his hips, pulling him down as Aziraphale began to buck upwards. Crowley leaned back against Aziraphale’s knees as the angel continued to fuck up into him.

Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s legs up to place his feet flat on the mattress on either side of them before sitting up himself, essentially holding Crowley in his lap. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale as they brought their lips together once more, Aziraphale still controlling Crowley’s hips with his strong arms and hands, fingertips pressed firmly into skin and muscle.

When it got to be too much, Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck, tightening his arms around him. Crowley might have been embarrassed by each accompanying grunt he made as Aziraphale pushed and pulled at his hips, but he was too lost in sensation and adoration.

It wasn’t long before they both found their release, Aziraphale desperately searching for something in Crowley’s face, while Crowley was desperate to hide his own so that Aziraphale wouldn’t notice the tears that had begun to fall all over again _. You’re going to leave again,_ Crowley thought. _You’re going to leave again and this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have asked for this. Why do I do these things to myself?_ Crowley threw his head back and covered his eyes as the last waves washed through him, feeling the warm wet evidence of Aziraphale’s climax inside of him.

When Aziraphale started to shift as if to pull out, Crowley tightened his legs around him, holding them both in place. Crowley didn’t _want_ Aziraphale to pull out, not yet. He found that he enjoyed the fullness he felt right then. Even after Aziraphale would eventually pull out, Crowley wanted to keep the spend inside. That was a part of _Aziraphale_ , and as long as it was inside of _him_ , it was a part of Crowley. It was something they had shared _together_ , and that made it precious, even if it was only as temporary as Aziraphale's presence in his bed.

As if he somehow understood, Aziraphale carefully rolled them over, staying inside of Crowley as best he could, propping himself up on one elbow while rubbing his free hand along Crowley’s leg as it wrapped tightly around his waist. He leaned down to place a gentle kiss against Crowley’s lips.

“As much as I am enjoying this,” Aziraphale whispered, “I’m afraid at some point I’m going to need to leave.”

 _No, please don’t go. You **can’t**_ , Crowley thought desperately. “You could just,” Crowley hesitated before deciding to finish his sentence. “You could just stay over, if you like.”

Aziraphale’s eyes tracked across Crowley’s face as he looked down at his lover, though it was not quite the label his heart wanted to affix to the man beneath him. There were one too many letters.

“It’s still raining,” Crowley said quickly, offering a legitimate excuse. “No sense in you walking in the pouring rain.”

“That’s true. I suppose I could call a car,” Aziraphale said, wishing he hadn’t.

“I mean, you’re _already_ here,” Crowley continued, nervously. “I had intended to come by your shop in the morning anyway to get an idea of your inventory for a client of mine. I could…” Crowley shrugged beneath Aziraphale, unable to quite look him in the eye. “I could walk you home in the morning on my way.”

“It _is_ late, isn’t it?” Aziraphale reasoned. “But I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“No, no,” Crowley quickly argued. “No imposition at all. In fact, we could have breakfast. Might do me a bit of good to have something more than coffee in the morning.”

“That _does_ sound lovely,” Aziraphale agreed. “Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt, in that case.”

“It’s settled then,” Crowley said, appearing relieved. “You’ll just stay the night here. It’s more convenient, really.”

“Yes, quite,” Aziraphale agreed, settling in beside Crowley.

As much as Crowley had been dreading the moment Aziraphale pulled out, the fact that he was staying the night more than made up for that. They had only slept next to each other once before, their first time. Every other time, one of them always went home shortly after. Knowing Aziraphale was lying next to him felt so much more comforting.

After a few minutes of lying on their backs next to one another, Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s arm, slowly at first, but with increasing confidence as he found no resistance. He pulled it around himself as he rolled over to face the opposite direction.

Aziraphale smiled and settled himself along Crowley’s back, barely able to resist the urge to press a soft kiss along the back of his neck. _In this way, I can steal you away into my private inner sanctum,_ Aziraphale thought. _I can close my eyes and feel you inside of my arms as I carry you into my dreams. We can make this journey together, you and I, and in this way, I can love you, and pretend you love me back._

Crowley’s eyes flew open when he felt the mattress shifting as Aziraphale sat up. The pale light coming through the windows told him it was almost sunrise. He gasped in shock as he turned his gaze towards Aziraphale. “What has happened to your hair?”

Aziraphale very obviously ignored that. “I don’t suppose you happen to have a straightening iron?”

Crowley grinned, reaching up to touch the frizzy-fluff cloud-stuff that had gathered around Aziraphale’s head after falling asleep on rain-wet sex hair. “I don’t think my tools are competent enough for this job,” he said with a grave seriousness.

“Shut up.”

“It’s huge!”

“Shut _up_.”

“No, really,” Crowley laughed. “It’s a _glorious_ mane. You’re like a, like, a sexy white lion.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes with a tilt of his head. “Do you at _least_ have a dryer and a brush?”

“Yeah, just give me a moment.” Crowley stretched his arms above his head with a yawn.

Aziraphale poked his finger into Crowley’s open mouth.

“Grk!” Crowley noised. “Oh! You, uh, what the _fuck_ was that about, poking your disgusting finger in my mouth just now?”

“I’ve poked worse than my finger in your mouth,” Aziraphale said with a grin as he got out of bed.

Crowley rolled his eyes with a groaning sigh and a shrug. “Point taken,” he said. “But good luck finding my hair tools now.”

“You need coffee,” Aziraphale said as he opened the bedroom door. “I’ll go get it started. When I come back, there had _better_ be a hairbrush where I can find it.”

Crowley smiled as he watched him walk away. He got up out of bed and went into the bathroom to sort through his hair tools to find things for Aziraphale to tamp down the wildness surrounding him.

As he dug through the drawers, his reflection caught his eye. Crowley stood looking in the bathroom mirror at the bruises on his hip. He loved it when Aziraphale left marks on him. Crowley lined his own fingertips along the spots, pressing into each purpling fingerprint while pretending the fingers that had dug into his skin last night were still there. So focused was he on this that he didn’t even notice Aziraphale had come in to stand behind him. Crowley gasped when arms wrapped around him from behind and the hands touching him in his memory were a reality once more.

Aziraphale slid his hands underneath Crowley’s own on his hips, watching him in the mirror. “Do you like when I mark you?”

Crowley’s cock twitched. He watched Aziraphale’s reflection as the angel _smirked_ and pressed a small kiss against his shoulder.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Aziraphale said. “Stay here,” Aziraphale said into Crowley’s ear, sliding his hands up Crowley’s torso and along his arms, placing his hands palm-down on the sink top. “I’ll be right back.”

Crowley waited, exactly as Aziraphale had positioned him, as Aziraphale left the bathroom. He returned a moment later with his left hand cupped and an item in his right. Stepping back behind Crowley, Aziraphale placed the lubrication tube on the counter. He gave a glance to Crowley in the mirror, looking down at the lube in his hand and back up into Crowley’s eyes. Crowley nodded, and spread his legs. Aziraphale grinned, pushing them back together as he reached down to slide his hand, now slick with warmed lubricant, in between Crowley’s thighs.

Once Aziraphale was satisfied Crowley was properly slicked, he ran his hand across his own member before pressing it into the tight space where Crowley’s legs met. Aziraphale slid in and dragged out slowly a few times before thrusting hard enough to elicit a gasp out of Crowley as he threw his hands up to brace himself against the mirror. Aziraphale reached down to take Crowley’s now hard cock in his left hand, while holding him around the chest with his right arm, hand splayed palm-down across Crowley’s rapidly-beating heart.

As Aziraphale picked up speed both between his legs and with his arm, Crowley watched their reflection in the mirror. He shuddered at the sight of Aziraphale leaning his head back while closing his eyes and biting his own lip. He marveled at the way their bodies fit together. Crowley was enthralled at this visual element. It wasn’t vanity or narcissism. It was appreciation for the artistry that was Aziraphale’s touch.

Crowley could _see_ what Aziraphale was doing to him that pulled out each gasp and moan. He watched in the mirror with rapt attention.

Aziraphale noticed.

“Do you enjoy watching me touching you?” Aziraphale asked, tightening his grip on Crowley’s erection as he continued to stroke him.

Crowley’s eyes squeezed tightly closed as he let out a shuddering moan at the unexpected increase of pressure in Aziraphale’s fingers wrapped around his own weeping cock. “Yes,” he gasped.

“Good,” Aziraphale’s voice rumbled through the throat pressed along Crowley’s shoulder.

They watched each other, savoring every reaction, as they continued to climb towards climax. The wet heat that spilled between Crowley’s legs was just enough to send him over the edge, shooting his own spend into the sink basin in front of them.

Aziraphale held Crowley against his chest as they caught their breath.

“I’m glad you convinced me to stay over,” Aziraphale whispered in his ear.

“Yeah, me, too,” Crowley whispered back, eyes closed as he pressed his cheek against Aziraphale’s face.

“Do you think we should get in the shower and get cleaned up?”

Crowley nodded. “And after that, I’ll take you to breakfast, anywhere you want to go.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened slightly in anticipation. “What would you say to some crepes?”

Crowley had asked Aziraphale if he could arrange for a weekend off. Mid-morning that Friday, Crowley pulled up in front of the bookshop in a gleaming black car. Aziraphale and Newt both were surprised to see Crowley stepping out from the driver’s seat.

“Is that… Is that _yours_?” Newt asked, unable to take his eyes off of the car through the shop window as Crowley walked in.

“Yu ** _p_** ,” Crowley said, popping the _p_.

“What are you doing with that?” Aziraphale asked incredulously.

“I’ve come to take you for a ride,” Crowley grinned, pulling his sunglasses down slightly to wink at Aziraphale. “That’s not something I normally do, either, you should know. I won’t let just _anyone_ in my car,” he said, arching a single eyebrow above his sunglasses.

Aziraphale gave him a condescending look, but followed him outside. “Don’t you find it a bit silly to drive from your flat to my shop?”

“You _really_ know how to take the wind out of my sails, don’t you?” Crowley looked at him with an exasperated smile. “Just take this as the compliment it was meant to be.”

Aziraphale looked at him as if biting back a retort.

“Can we get on?” Crowley said, opening the door. “Get in, Angel.”

“It is rather nice,” Aziraphale conceded, entering through the offered door. Crowley closed it carefully and made his way back around to the driver’s side.

“I still say it’s a bit silly to drive just a few miles in London.”

“Oh, we’re not going anywhere in London.”

“Where are we going?”

“There’s a village near Oxford, Tadfield. There’s a car show there. I go every year. I thought you might like to attend with me.”

“Oh, I see. Is this a habit of yours, then, inviting an unsuspecting someone into your car and absconding with them to one of these car shows?”

“Not really, no,” Crowley said, shaking his head with a curl of his lip and a crinkle of his nose. “I told you, I don’t let just anyone ride along in the Bentley.” _No one_ , he thought. _I don’t let anyone in my car. You’re the only person to sit in that seat since I’ve owned it._

“And yet here we are, on the way to a car show,” Aziraphale said skeptically.

“I like showing the Bentley off.” _And you_ , Crowley thought to himself with a smile. _You’re **really** what I want to show off. I want you on my arm wherever I go. When people look at us, I want them to see quality. I want them to see you stepping out of this car and **wish** they were me. If I have to make an excuse for that, it’s not as if anyone is getting hurt._

Crowley wasn’t entirely correct in that assumption. There was _one_ person at high risk, but he was too busy daydreaming about showing off his angel to recognize it. More importantly, it’s difficult to see one’s own face without a mirror.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice pulled him from his mental meanderings.

“Yeah?” He replied softly.

“Now, I don’t claim to know much about automobiles,” Aziraphale said, ignoring the snort that came from the other side of the car, “But I’m fairly certain that compact disk players with auxiliary ports weren’t around in the 1930s.”

“Well spotted, Angel. You’re a regular sleuth there,” Crowley said with a grin as he hit the clutch to shift into 5th gear.

Aziraphale, at this point, had already grabbed at the roof of the vehicle.

“I had a few customizations made when it was being restored,” Crowley said, pressing the accelerator harder.

“Crowley, you can’t go 90 miles an hour in central London!”

“Why not?” Crowley asked, pulling his hands from the wheel long enough to draw Aziraphale’s eyebrows up even further. “I literally paid for the _entire_ speedometer. Do you think a 1932 Bentley could go this fast on its own? No,” Crowley grinned at him. 

“Watch-watch the road!” Aziraphale flustered.

Crowley shook his head back and forth sarcastically as he turned his eyes back towards the windscreen. “I told you, I made some customizations. When they rebuilt the engine, I had them put the most up-to-date parts in that would fit inside of the body,” Crowley explained, somehow managing to weave in and out of the traffic that might have left others at a standstill. “There’s a bloke in the states that put an aircraft engine in one. That’s a _bit_ much, even for _me_ , but they do everything bigger over there, I think. I just wanted to go faster with a lower carbon footprint than I could get with the original engine parts.”

Aziraphale smiled uncomfortably. He was all for a smaller carbon footprint, but he was terrified he might never see his own footprints on solid ground again the way Crowley was driving. “Music,” Aziraphale said, spotting the CD jewel cases in the console. “Why don’t I put on a little music?”

 _Oh_ , Aziraphale thought as he pulled out a Velvet Underground CD. He flipped it over to see if it had the song he was hoping to find on it. Finding _Beginning To See The Light_ , Aziraphale was just about to put the CD in and select the track when he noticed a strangely concerned, and possibly upset, look on Crowley’s face as he glanced at the CD.

In a panic that Crowley might know what Aziraphale was trying to do, he blurted out the first thing he could think of. “What’s a Velvet Underground?”

 _Oh, good lord,_ Aziraphale thought to himself, cringing internally at his own question.

Crowley tried to cover the tense fear that gripped him with a grimacing sneer. “You wouldn’t like it,” _Oh, please, don’t put that in,_ Crowley thought desperately. _I can’t bear listening to Pale Blue Eyes with you next to me. I just can’t. I will absolutely die, right here, in the driver’s seat._

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, shuffling the CDs around in his hands. “ _Bebop_.” With a slump of his shoulders, he put the Velvet Underground CD down and slipped in a Best of Queen album.

After a few minutes, and having slowed down to a much more realistic speed, Crowley asked, “Did you want to stop somewhere for lunch before we leave London, or do you want to wait until we’re there?”

“Actually, I _am_ a bit peckish.”

“Let’s have lunch, my treat. Anywhere you want to go.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, a look of excitement passing across his face as he looked up to see a sign not far ahead. “In that case, since we’re already so close, what would you say to McDonald’s?”

“McDonald’s? Really?” Crowley snorted. “I thought you had _standards_.”

“I do, but they have chicken nuggets. Have you ever _had_ a chicken nugget, Crowley?”

“Wh-? Uh,” Crowley sputtered. “Of course I’ve had a chickem nugger.” He shook his head in frustration, correcting himself. “ _Chicken nugget_.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in amusement. “Well, then. Shall we?”

Crowley rolled his eyes with a sigh, navigating to the nearest McDonald’s. “You’re _not_ bringing that into my car,” he said.

“Then I suppose we’ll simply dine inside,” Aziraphale said, happily looking out the window at the shops as they passed them by.

 _This should not be endearing,_ Crowley thought. _Why do I find this so charming?_ He growled quietly as he pulled his custom-rebuilt 1932 classic Bentley into a parking space in front of a McDonalds and got out of the car.

Crowley glanced up at the menu, then at Aziraphale, who had a determined look on his face as he stared ahead. “Aren’t you going to look at the menu?”

“No need,” Aziraphale explained. “I told you. I’m in the mood for nuggets. What are you in the mood for?”

“I can’t decide. I don’t know what half of these things are,” Crowley said, squinting to read the dozens of items on the board above them.

“Then you’ll have the nuggets as well. I’ll take care of it. Just think about what you’d like to drink.”

“Coffee.” Crowley took in a deep breath, “Or tea,” he said, releasing that breath with a shrug. “I don’t care. I’ll just get whatever you do.”

Aziraphale placed the order once they made it to the front of the line. When the cashier totaled up the bill, Aziraphale reached into his pocket for his wallet. Before he could even open it up, Crowley had already swiped his own card.

“I was fully intending to pay,” Aziraphale said in a huff.

“I know. But I told you, it’s my treat,” Crowley said casually, looking away.

Aziraphale’s face softened into a fond smile, though he let out an exasperated sigh for Crowley’s benefit.

After their order was ready, Aziraphale collected their tray and selected a table. Crowley’s mobile rang as they sat down.

“Yes?” Crowley said as he answered. There was a pause as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line. His head lolled back for a moment before he leaned forward again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, no. That was me. Nothing’s been stolen.”

Aziraphale’s head tilted to the side as he watched half of a conversation unfold in front of him.

“ _Yes_ , really,” Crowley sighed, before lifting his face towards Aziraphale, cocking his head to the side. “Because they have chicken nuggets,” he said. “Everything’s fine. But thank you for letting me know there was suspicious activity on my account.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“Well, _that_ happened,” Crowley said, putting his phone away. “Do you see why this is a problem now? What if one of my clients sees me in here?”

“One would have to _be_ here to _see you_ here,” Aziraphale explained calmly. “And if any of your clients were inside of the McDonald’s, it would be most certain that they, too, were heeding to the siren song that is the chicken McNugget,” Aziraphale said, dipping his own nugget into honey before popping it in his mouth with a smug smile. He chewed and swallowed, daintily dabbing at his lips with a napkin. “Snob,” he said, smiling sweetly as he opened a honey cup and placed it in front of Crowley.

Crowley rolled his eyes with a fond smile. “Bastard.”

They made it to Tadfield early in the afternoon. Though the car show was not officially to begin until the next day, it was evident that many people and vendors had plenty going on.

“Oh, Crowley, do you smell that?” Aziraphale’s eyes lit up as they walked around.

“What’s that?”

“Toffee. Oh, I do hope they have toffee almonds,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley laughed. “I’ve got to go check in for the Bentley’s place in the show.” Crowley looked down at the event map. “Since we’ve only got the one map, why don’t we go get you some toffee first?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Aziraphale said. “I can follow my nose and find it myself. I know you aren’t big on sweets. You go ahead and take care of what you need to do. We’ll find one another after.”

Crowley shrugged. “Suit yourself. Meet back here in, say, a quarter, half an hour?”

Aziraphale nodded with a grin before sniffing the air and walking off towards his goal.

Upon finding the source of the delectable aroma, Aziraphale queued up for a lovely paper cone full of treats. He wasn’t _trying_ to eavesdrop, but the couple ahead of him were holding a conversation at a volume that wasn’t _loud_ by any means, but still quite impossible to ignore.

“Now, Ronald, you _know_ you love the annual car show,” a gentleman with an impressively-waxed handlebar mustache said to the man with a bushy mustache next to him.

“Yes, that’s as may be, but it is a terribly inconvenient time for us to be in need of a hotel room in our very own village," Ronald replied. "But we have to set an example, and that means the repairs simply couldn't wait."

“Well, I suppose it’s lucky that the hotel knew who you were, then,” the man with a handlebar mustache said with an affectionate smirk and a nudge.

“It is a high and lonely destiny to be Chairman of the Lower Tadfield Residents' Association,” Ronald replied solemnly. “But there are occasional perks,” he smiled warmly at the man with the handlebar mustache.

The line moved rather quickly, and suddenly it was Aziraphale’s turn. He was quite excited to see so many options, but ultimately, he was in the mood for toffee almonds. The sound he made as he bit into the first one, still warm, turned several heads. Aziraphale blushed, suddenly wishing he had allowed Crowley to come with him after all. Realizing he still had at least another ten minutes before he needed to return to their meeting spot, Aziraphale began to wander around.

Crowley had just picked up his check-in packet, complete with lanyards and passes to some of the side events, when he decided to have a look around to kill time before meeting up with Aziraphale. He was unfamiliar with a few of the booths this year, and was trying to look at a map when he heard a voice addressing him.

“Excuse me, young person, but I couldn’t help but notice you had a map.”

Crowley began looking around for this young person the man spoke of.

“Casing the joint, are we?”

Crowley’s eyes went wide. “What? I, uh,” he sputtered. He hadn't _cased a joint_ in well over twenty-five years. “I’ve registered my Bentley,” he said, pulling out the lanyard with his photo and identification number on it.

“Oh, good lord, you’re here for the car show!” The man said with mild chagrin. “Sorry. I thought you were a person of interest.”

Crowley shook his head exaggeratedly. “Nope, not at all. Perfectly uninteresting, me.”

The man smiled and turned around to leave. Crowley sighed for a moment. “Excuse me, sorry to bother you.”

The man turned back around.

“I haven’t been here since last year, and it seems a few things have changed,” Crowley said, holding up his map. “I’ve managed to get slightly lost.”

Aziraphale, looking at the time, decided to look for Crowley, as he had not yet showed up. Upon hearing a rather spirited argument near the water, Aziraphale turned to follow the sound of a familiar voice. He looked across the way to see the man with the handlebar mustache had approached at the same time, looking between Aziraphale and the two men arguing.

“And yet, when the petrol ban comes into action,” Crowley sneered, thumbing his own chest exaggeratingly at the red-faced man in front of him, “I’ll still be able to drive my _classic_ - _fucking_ - _car_!”

“It’s not a _classic_ _car_ , it’s an abomination!” Ronald yelled back as the man with a handlebar mustache trotted over to take his arm.

Aziraphale had done the same to Crowley.

“You don’t get to decide that,” Crowley hissed.

“I don’t have to decide it,” Ronald said haughtily. “It’s _already_ a fact.”

“People like you are responsible for Global Warming!” Crowley yelled as Aziraphale pulled him back.

“Global Warming is a hoax!” The man retorted.

“ _You’re_ a hoax!” Crowley shouted, pointing from behind Aziraphale.

“Crowley, calm down,” Aziraphale said, trying to back them away without spilling his almonds. “Here,” he said, feeding Crowley an almond to try to occupy his mouth with something other than whatever this argument was.

Crowley chewed angrily as he glared at Ronald. “This miserable old bugger thinks that because my car was converted to electric," he turned briefly to glare at Ronald again, " _With_ a manual transmission, thank you, and I know it's _possible_ , because I paid for them to fucking _do_ that," he turned back to Aziraphale, "That it doesn’t count as a classic car.”

“That’s because it doesn’t, you _ninny_!”

“Ronald!” The handlebar-mustached man gasped. "Language!"

“Oi!” Crowley said. “That _is_ a classic car, and the event organizers recognize that. Even if what you said _mattered_ , I had it rebuilt over fifteen years ago. It’s still a classic regardless of whether you look at the original manufacture date or the engine rebuild date, you old coot.”

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale said. “You’re being _ridiculous_.”

“I’ve only had to buy petrol once since I got it, Angel, and that was just to get the bullet hole decals.” Crowley looked at Ronald and pointed accusingly. “Just because _you’re_ tied to fossil fuels doesn’t mean I’m interested in diminishing the air quality around me.”

“Crowley!”

Crowley turned to Aziraphale to whisper. “I’m not usually so judgmental of people, but this bellend is being _unreasonable_.”

“And so are _you_ ,” Aziraphale said, arching his eyebrow as he placed an almond in his mouth, chewing condescendingly, somehow.

Crowley huffed out a whine. “But you weren’t _there_ , Aziraphale. You don’t know what he _said_. I’m _right_.”

Ronald continued to glare at Crowley, red faced, but said nothing.

“And you know you’re right,” Aziraphale said. “And the people who run this event know you’re right, you’ve said. Isn’t that enough?”

Crowley sputtered, waving his hands in the air. “Eh, uh, n-no!”

“Fine,” Aziraphale said, shrugging his shoulders. “If you want to fight with this gentleman about this, be my guest. Go ahead and get in the pond if you’re going to act like a silly goose,” Aziraphale said sassily, popping another almond in his mouth.

Crowley narrowed his eyes at Aziraphale and said nothing, crouching down to take his shoes off.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale said, visibly deflating.

“I’m not backing down, is what. I’m not wrong, and to prove it, I’m going to get in that pond,” he said, taking off his watch and handing it to Aziraphale.

“You do realize, don’t you, that you’re admitting to being a silly goose by doing that.”

“I’m admitting that I am _so certain_ I’m right that I’d stake my very nice suit on it just to prove it,” Crowley said, sticking his jaw out as he emptied his jacket pockets and shoved it all into Aziraphale’s coat pocket.

“You haven’t denied it.”

“I have a point to make, Aziraphale. You've both pushed me to it.” And off he strode.

“Is he really going to get in the water like that?” The man with a handlebar mustache leaned over to ask Aziraphale as they watched his futile attempt to pull up his tight trouser legs.

“No,” Aziraphale smiled, shaking his head. “He won’t actually get in the water. He’s just being a bit dramat— Oh, _Crowley_! For Heaven’s sake, get out of that water _this instant_!"

After wading up to his knees in the water, Crowley turned around, arms stretched wide. “It’s all for you, Aziraphale!” Crowley shouted, falling backwards with a splash that frightened several ducks.

“ _Crowley_!” Aziraphale politely shouted quietly. “Get over here _now_! Don’t make me come in there after you.”

Crowley grinned and stumbled as he tried to stagger back over to the grass, dripping like anything.

“C’mon, Angel. We’re done here,” he said bowing to Ronald before turning to head towards the car.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” Aziraphale said, catching up to him.

“You didn’t take me here. I brought you, remember?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. They continued the walk back to the car.

“I can’t have chicken nuggets in your car, but you can sit in it like that?” Aziraphale said with a playful huff.

“Ah,” Crowley said, walking around to open the boot. “I’ve got that taken care of,” he said, reaching in to pull out a bag.

“You do this often enough to keep a bag of clothes in the boot of your car?”

“No, I packed this for the weekend. We have reservations at a hotel just over there.” Crowley pointed at the large building across the lot.

Aziraphale shot him a dirty look. “And what about me? I might have had things to do this weekend.”

“If you’ll recall, I asked you to clear your schedule. I know _exactly_ what you planned to do this weekend,” Crowley said, grinning devilishly while sorting through his bag for a change of clothes.

“And what’s that?” Aziraphale asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“ _Me_ ,” Crowley replied, waggling his eyebrows.

Aziraphale scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Crowley laughed. “You planned to stay over at mine tonight, did you not?”

“Well, _yes_ , but—”

“And you intended for us to have a lie-in tomorrow, followed by a late brunch?”

“Well,” Aziraphale huffed, “I _still_ would have liked to have been able to pack a bag. I’ve got nothing to—”

Crowley cut him off once again. “I took the liberty of picking up a few things for you earlier,” he said, handing Aziraphale a bag. “There’s hair tools in there, too,” Crowley said proudly. “I checked your bathroom to see what you used. I even got your hair cream.”

Aziraphale smiled, opening the bag to see hints of tartan poking out from the folded items inside.

“And, I figured, what you didn’t use this weekend, you might just keep over at mine,” Crowley said quietly.

Aziraphale inhaled sharply and stilled, hope pooling in his stomach.

“Erm, uh, f-for convenience, is all,” Crowley said quickly.

“Ah, yes,” Aziraphale said, closing the bag. “Convenience.”

They grabbed most of the bags from the boot and walked across the way to check in and get the key.

There was something about seeing Crowley all wet and disheveled that reminded him of getting caught in the rain. Being wet and disheveled reminded Crowley of the same thing.

Once they got into the room, the bags were dropped in the floor in the darkness. Aziraphale reached a hand over to the wall to feel around for a light switch, turning it on.

“You’re soaked through,” Aziraphale said, struggling to pull wet clothing off of Crowley. “Did you not realize that your trousers were _already_ tight before you attempted to roll them up to get them wet?”

“Admittedly, that was not my best moment,” Crowley conceded.

Aziraphale managed to get Crowley’s shoes, socks, jacket, and top off, leaving him only in his trousers, camisole, and the matching undergarment beneath.

“I don’t suppose you have a trick to this one, do you?”

Crowley shook his head. “You’re just going to have to figure it out.”

“Me? Why me?”

“I think I’ve established that I do not make good trouser decisions.”

Aziraphale shrugged with a pout and a nod.

After several minutes of struggling, Crowley was finally relieved of his trouser prison, but not without taking a toll. Between them, they were panting and frustrated, having worked themselves into a frenzy just trying to remove the tight, wet trousers. Suddenly, fingers threaded through hair and lips found one another. Crowley unbuttoned Aziraphale’s shirt, sliding it off of him, along with his braces. Once Crowley had Aziraphale stripped down to nothing, and Aziraphale had managed to pull Crowley’s camisole off, Aziraphale leaned down to grab Crowley, hoisting him up on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Crowley asked with surprise.

“I need to wash the pond water off of your body so I can get my mouth on you,” he said, slipping his hand back in between Crowley’s legs to squeeze, carrying him into the shower.

“Get in the shower,” Aziraphale directed after putting Crowley down in the bathroom.

Crowley got in quickly, leaning against the back wall. “Now what?”

Aziraphale sat on the edge of the tub in front of Crowley, struggling to get the wet and clingy lace boy short panties off of him. They were stuck as badly as the trousers had been.

"I don't care if you rip it,” Crowley said, watching as Aziraphale’s hands tried to tug the fabric down. “I've got more."

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley. “Are you certain, my dear? These are so lovely.”

Crowley nodded. “They’re new. I can get more when we get back to London.”

The look on Aziraphale’s face sent warm shivers down Crowley’s spine and set his flesh to goosebumps. Pushing his fingertips underneath the waistband on either side of the side seam, Aziraphale began to pull slowly, tearing at threads as they stretched and popped between his bare hands, peeking up at Crowley as he did so.

“Oh, _fuck_ , Angel,” Crowley said, his now fully erect cock springing forth as the fabric was torn away. “I almost came just _watching_ that.”

Aziraphale turned the water on, using the shower head to rinse Crowley off before soaping him up and rinsing him off again. He handed the shower head back to Crowley to hang on the hook.

Aziraphale leaned forward from where he was seated on the edge of the tub to take Crowley into his mouth with an appreciative moan that rivaled that of the almonds he had eaten earlier.

Crowley’s head turned to the side, spotting the shampoo.

“Can I wash your hair while you do that?”

Aziraphale grinned as he slipped his mouth off of Crowley’s cock. “Please do.”

Crowley wet Aziraphale’s hair. He rubbed shampoo between his hands as Aziraphale sat back down and continued the job he had begun moments prior.

Crowley massaged Aziraphale’s scalp as he bobbed back and forth along Crowley’s erection, hollowing his cheeks as he pulled back. When he felt Crowley’s fingers tensing into fists in his hair, but held them still, he pulled his mouth off of Crowley.

“Do it,” Aziraphale said. “I _want_ you to.”

“I don’t want to get this in your eyes. Let’s rinse it out first,” Crowley panted, grabbing the shower head and handing it to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale rinsed all the soap out before handing it back to Crowley, picking up where he left off. He grabbed Crowley’s hands, placing them back into his wet hair and looked up at Crowley expectantly.

Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s hair, pushing and pulling his head back and forth gently but effectively. Aziraphale moaned around Crowley’s cock as it dragged heavily across his tongue. He pressed his fingertips firmly into Crowley’s thighs and backside to show his enjoyment.

Crowley, noticing a slight shiver coming from Aziraphale, reached for the shower head, pulling it down from the hook. “I’m going to baste you,” Crowley said, looking down as he began to run warm water over Aziraphale’s shoulders.

Aziraphale snorted, blowing a huff of air past his lips as he pulled his mouth back off Crowley’s cock to look up in disbelief.

“Jesus _fuck_ , Angel! Are you trying to inflate me? That tickles,” Crowley said, grabbing himself. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re going to _baste_ me?”

“I thought you might be cold. I was going to run warm water on your back to keep you from getting chilled. I don’t know how else to say it.”

“Perhaps like that?” Aziraphale offered with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Crowley rolled his eyes with a sigh. “It’s far more difficult to think when the blood my brain needs has been diverted elsewhere.”

Aziraphale grinned. “Fair enough,” he said. “Right, then, shall I continue?”

“Please.”

After their shower, they relaxed and settled in for a nice in-room dinner courtesy of room service. What began as a harmless conversation turned into their third foray into anal sex, because _surely_ they should have gotten the hang of it by _now_.

 _I love you_ , Crowley’s treasonous mind shouted. _I love you, I love you, I love you, oh, **fuck** , Angel, _“I lo—"

Catching himself as it was no longer just in his mind, Crowley shoved his face down, shouting out his ecstasy into the pillow with a frustrated howl. He clung desperately to both the pillow and the hope that it would muffle the words as they spilled out in broken sobs. Instinctively, he reached behind him, grabbing at Aziraphale’s hand tightly to keep from completely falling apart.

Aziraphale tried to keep up his frantic pace, though he faltered slightly at the sounds Crowley was making. He almost stopped when he saw Crowley’s hand grasping his own. Was it possible?

 _Stop torturing yourself,_ Aziraphale thought. _You’re imagining things. He doesn’t love you. He **likes** you, certainly,_ he thought _, and he loves **this**_ , _but don’t fool yourself. He’s not in love with you. Stop thinking about that. You’re driving yourself mad. Crowley loves what you’re **doing** , nothing more. This is enough. It **has** to be enough. _

With a shaky breath, he closed his eyes, tilting his head back while gripping Crowley’s hips more firmly to resume his rhythm.

Lying in the dark, not long after Aziraphale had fallen asleep wrapped around him, Crowley reached up to wipe the wetness from his cheeks. This wasn’t what he _wanted_ from Aziraphale, not entirely. It was overwhelming, sometimes, the sheer force of love he felt for Aziraphale. It was that same love that was chipping away at him, piece by piece, that wouldn’t let him go. Was this too much? Had they gone too far?

_Am I doing more damage than good here?_

No, as long as Aziraphale wanted _him_ , in whatever capacity, as long as Aziraphale was _happy_ with their arrangement, Crowley knew he wouldn’t be able to just walk away.

And he didn’t want to.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale’s arms tighter around himself to try to stop his own shaking. It had to be enough to _pretend_ that in addition to being tolerated and cared for, Aziraphale also loved him in return.

The following day at the car show was mostly a blur for Crowley. In their registration packets, Crowley had paid extra for access to the wine and spirit tasting. This was quite convenient, as Crowley wasn’t in the mood to think about what happened the night before. Crowley was in the mood to _drink_.

And that’s exactly what he did.

As the afternoon turned into evening, the two of them became a bit tipsy.

Crowley, however, was not done, not in the least. He began outpacing Aziraphale by almost double.

They had gone to load a box of wine and a few bottles of whiskey Crowley purchased from one of the vendors into the boot of the Bentley when Aziraphale decided to say something.

“Maybe we should get some food in you,” Aziraphale said.

“That’s not what I want in me _at all_ , Angel,” Crowley grinned, biting the corner of his lip. “But if you like, I’ll take you somewhere nice first,” Crowley said, opening the door to the Bentley while holding one of the unopened bottles of whiskey.

“Do you think you’re sober enough to drive?” Aziraphale asked nervously.

“I don’t know. Let me check something,” Crowley said, clearing his throat. He took a deep breath, leaned his head back, and began to loudly call out, “ ** _WEE WOO, WEE WOO, WEE WOO!”_**

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in shock. “What the hell did you just do?”

“That’s my drunk siren.”

“Your _what_?”

“My drunk siren. I would never do that sober.”

“But you just _did_ it,” Aziraphale said, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Because I’m drunk!” Crowley grinned, closing the car door and stepping away with a look of amused delight. “Now we know.”

Aziraphale didn’t even know what to say, but he was glad Crowley at least had enough sense not to drive.

“Come on,” Crowley said with a goofy grin as he grabbed Aziraphale’s hand to drag him towards the hotel. “Let’s get back so you can fuck me.”

“But we’re drunk,” Aziraphale said.

“And that’s why it’s gonna be _drunk_ sex.”

“But I thought…”

“Well, if you don’t _want_ to, we don’t _have_ to. But _I_ want to, and I wanted to before I had a drop to drink. I even _brought things.”_

“What sort of things?”

“ _Things_ , Angel. All you need to worry about is getting that fat dick of yours up my arse. And if you’ve had too much to drink and can’t do that, ‘sokay. I have a thing for that, too. And it lights up!”

Aziraphale snorted. “You went back for it?”

“I did!” Crowley grinned proudly. “You laugh, but I know you wanna light my arse up with that thing.”

“I do _not_ ,” Aziraphale blushed.

“You _do_!” Crowley drawled. “Oh!” Crowley exclaimed suddenly. “I have a better idea,” he said, pulling at Aziraphale’s arm as he headed back towards the car. “Let’s get in the back seat. Fuck me in there.”

“In your car? You won’t even let me _eat_ in there.”

“That depends on what you’re eating,” Crowley said with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Aren’t you worried about something happening to the seats?”

“Angel, Angel,” Crowley said, stopping to turn and grab Aziraphale’s face to look him in the eye. “Yeah, no, I… You don’t understand. I surround myself with the best quality… y’know, stuff. But you… You’re the best thing in my _entire life_. It’s _you_.” Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, hugging him tightly to his chest, pressing his face on the angel's shoulder. "You're my best friend."

The drunken flush that had settled across Aziraphale’s nose and cheeks deepened just then.

“C’mon,” Crowley said, tugging at Aziraphale’s arm again. “Let’s get in there so you can plug up my tailpipe.”

After quite a bit of snogging in the back of the Bentley, Crowley realized that all of the lube was back at the hotel, along with any towels and clean clothes. Aziraphale managed to convince him that even if they did something else, he had no intention of walking back to the hotel in that sort of state. They left the car and walked back to the hotel.

Aziraphale ordered something starchy for them to eat in the hopes of getting Crowley sorted. Unfortunately, Crowley had elected to open the bottle of Talisker he brought with him instead.

Crowley took a drink directly from the bottle in his hand, licking his lips and leaning over towards Aziraphale. “I’m gonna put my whiskey mouth all over your blonde south,” he grinned, pushing Aziraphale down on the bed. “But only a little. Still want ye tae fuck me.” Crowley said, slipping into his Scottish accent more fully now. He had been brushing against it off and on during the evening already.

Someone knocked persistently at the door. Aziraphale got up, throwing on his long, plush robe to answer.

"Ah,” the man said, looking at Aziraphale with a shrewd smile. “R.P. Tyler, car enthusiast. I recognize you from the car show yesterday afternoon.”

“Ah, yes, I do believe we ran into one another,” Aziraphale said with a quirk of his lip and a lifting of his eyebrows. “Aziraphale Fell.” He smiled and extended his hand just as Crowley staggered over, barely covered by the sheer lace robe trimmed in marabou as he plopped his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder with a grin.

“Oi, Ronald,” Crowley drawled. “ D'you 'member me?”

The man’s bushy eyebrows furrowed as his mustache twitched. “Excuse me, young man, but my spouse and I are _trying_ to watch Braveheart, if you didn't mind."

“Are you really?” Crowley grinned. “Because _I’m_ trying to get my angelic companion here to f—”

Aziraphale clamped his hand over Crowley’s mouth quickly. He wasn’t _certain_ of what Crowley was about to say, but he certainly had an _idea_ of it.

“Young man, if you can’t keep control of this heathen, I’m going to have to insist that the two of you leave.”

“You cannae insist that,” Crowley said with a curl of his lip and a scrunch of his nose as he shook his head.

“Young man, are you mocking me?”

“Probably,” Crowley said. “But I don’t know what you’re talking about specifically.”

“I distinctly remember you speaking with an English accent yesterday.”

“Oh,” Crowley said. “I’m nae doing that to mock you.”

“Then why are you using that accent?”

“Because I’m from Edinburgh,” Crowley said incredulously, as if it were ridiculous that he didn’t know that. “The English accent is the fake one.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows raised. That answered one question he had, but created so many more.

“I’m dreadfully sorry,” Aziraphale said, smiling politely at R.P. Tyler, “But as you are well aware, there are no more vacancies this weekend due to the car show. We’re from London, you see, and I’m afraid I’m unable to drive.”

“I assume _that_ one can,” R.P. Tyler pointed at Crowley with a sneer.

Crowley suddenly perked up with a newfound clarity. “Sir, are you suggesting that I operate a motor vehicle while _intoxicated_? Why, as a self-professed car enthusiast, one might find it strange for you to encourage the possibility of damaging a restored _classic_ 1932 Bentley.”

“Now don’t you start _that_ again,” Ronald said angrily.

“And as an upstanding member of any community,” Crowley continued as if he hadn’t heard anything, “The very _idea_ of someone as _inebriated_ as I am, and I _clearly_ am, behind the wheel doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“He does have a point,” Aziraphale said, somewhat proud of the logical sense Crowley was making in spite of—

“And if you don’t believe me, I can prove to you that I’m drunk right now,” Crowley continued, taking a deep breath and tilting his head back.

Aziraphale, for the second time this evening, quickly clamped his hand back around Crowley’s mouth, barely muffling the drunk siren.

“So sorry,” Aziraphale said, dragging Crowley back and closing the door.

“Angel,” Crowley whispered, leaning in close. “Angel, will you please fuck me? I’m asking ever so nicely now.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to gather strength. “If I do, do you promise to eat something and drink some water? I’d really like to talk to you about some things, and I don’t think we can do that if you’re this drunk.”

Crowley nodded. “Anything you want, but I want to be on top so I can sit on your dick.”

Aziraphale took the bottle out of Crowley’s hands and placed it on the table. “Fine, but no more drinking tonight, all right?”

Crowley nodded, crawling onto the bed with a small bag that matched the larger ones. “And just in case you can’t get it up, look!” Crowley pulled out a red jelly dildo and turned the light on, throwing it down on the bed to rummage around for the tube of lubricant.

A bit later, after Crowley was ready and able, Crowley only became louder, moaning as he rocked back and forth on top of Aziraphale.

Try as he might, Aziraphale couldn’t help but enjoy it. This was the first time that it looked like Crowley was enjoying himself. The other times, he seemed to like it, but there was an element of concern for Aziraphale in how Crowley appeared to be so distraught when they had sex this way. It was strange, Aziraphale thought, that something that seemed to be so upsetting for Crowley was something that he had practically begged for each time they had done it after the first.

Tonight, however, Crowley was acting light and free. It made Aziraphale feel good. He felt silly to be so hesitant about doing this with Crowley tonight, when he was very clearly enjoying himself. Maybe—

Aziraphale was pulled from his thoughts when Crowley grabbed the dildo on the bed, still glowing, and started giving a speech while still fucking himself on top of Aziraphale.

“Run, and you'll live,” Crowley began, still holding himself up by the left hand pressed against Aziraphale's chest while holding the dildo in the right. “At least a while. And something about… Beds, I think. Been a while since I last saw the movie. But Angel, our, uh, our enemies are in the next room!” Crowley took a deep breath, holding the red jelly dong high above him triumphantly. “Tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take... _OUR FREEDOM_!”

Crowley yelled that last part out loudly as he began spinning the glowing red dildo it in a circle above his head.

There was a loud banging against the wall.

“Oi! Shut it and watch yer movie, ye daft bastards!” Crowley yelled out with a growl towards the wall. “Scotland’s _winning against the English_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I had in mind for Crowley's sheer marabou robe, which he was still wearing in the end scene.


	8. Local Fish In Great Mood Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puppets, Ping Pong, and Peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we get started, LOOK!!!! I’m so excited, I can’t even talk about it. Miel Petite has graced me with the wine spill from Chapter 4: Disappointed Cricket Fan. I’ve embedded it into that chapter, but I’m also putting [the link](https://amadness2method.tumblr.com/post/624011392889110528/thank-you-mielpetite-for-this-gorgeous-art-for) here so you can see how glorious it is!

The owner of the hotel had been called. Once R.P. Tyler had returned to his own room, Aziraphale and the owner of the hotel had a nice little chat and straightened things out. Having reassured Aziraphale that they would _not_ be kicked out, the owner went back to bed and Aziraphale reentered the room he and Crowley were sharing.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes as they fell upon Crowley, robe open, sprawled out across the middle of the bed as usefully as a sundial at sundown.

“Got no strings to hold me down, to make me fret or make me frown,” Crowley lifted his head to sing, grinning goofily at Aziraphale for a moment before lowering his head back down, the smile slowly fading from his face. “I'm not tied up to _anyone_.” Crowley stared off, sighing heavily. “You can see, n-no strings on me.”

 _No strings_ , Aziraphale thought. _That’s what you said when we first started all of this._

“Crowley, I really think you should eat something,” Aziraphale said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You’re talking nonsense.”

Crowley looked to see Aziraphale’s arms reaching for him. His eyes widened as he sat up to continue his merry melody. “You, er, you have no strings. Your arms is free, to lov—"

Crowley stopped mid-word, turning sad eyes up to Aziraphale’s face. “Have you ev- uh, ever been in love, Angel?”

Aziraphale stared blankly. Though he had sobered up considerably, he was still _slightly_ drunk, or at least, that’s what he decided as he was unable to process the question.

“I'd bust my strings for you,” Crowley sang weakly before falling back on the bed like a discarded marionette, passing out cold.

Aziraphale sat for a few minutes as he repeated everything back in his mind. Had he heard correctly? For that matter, had he _understood_ it correctly? Was Crowley trying to tell him something? And if so, what? It was really rather confusing, if he allowed himself to think about it for any length of time.

He had time.

 _Strings,_ Aziraphale thought. _What is the significance of strings? Is there one?_

They had been quite deceptively cozy as of late. Sometimes Aziraphale was content to allow himself to imagine that they were _together_. It was easy to lose himself in the fantasy, until something budged out to remind him of reality. Could Crowley sense this within him? Was Crowley trying to _remind_ him that they were not a couple? And if so, wasn’t it more of a kindness that he did so?

 _This isn’t love_ , Aziraphale thought to himself, forcing a smile in spite of having no conscious audience. _It’s a perfect illusion._ He reached over to brush the hair from Crowley’s sleeping face _. But that’s not entirely true, is it,_ he thought _. Because I’m very much in love with you._

Aziraphale looked up at the ceiling with a frustrated sigh. “Maybe you know that,” he said quietly, looking back down as he traced his fingertips along Crowley’s eyebrow and down the side of his face. “Maybe that’s what had you so upset.” Aziraphale’s own lip quivered as he ran his fingers along Crowley’s jawline, brushing fingertips against soft, parted lips. “I can’t bear the thought of hurting you,” Aziraphale whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Crowley’s lips, “But I haven’t a clue how I could ever let you go.”

Aziraphale closed Crowley’s robe and scooted him over onto his side gently. He settled himself down next to Crowley, wrapping his arms around him and resting his face in Crowley’s hair.

“You will wake up having had a lovely dream about whatever it is you like best,” he whispered.

Crowley pressed his back against him, shifting with a quiet grunt and a mumble of, “Angel,” on his lips as he settled back down wrapped in Aziraphale’s arms.

Aziraphale awoke to soft snoring next to him. He lifted his head, smiling as he looked down to watch Crowley sleep. Even with hair sticking out in every possible direction, and even with a gaping mouth, complete with a combination of fresh and dried drool, Crowley _still_ had the most beguiling face Aziraphale had ever seen.

 _You beautiful disaster_ , Aziraphale thought, leaning over to place a feather-light kiss upon Crowley’s sleeping forehead. _I love you_.

Slowly, Aziraphale pulled back the sheets to extract himself from the bed, hoping not to disturb Crowley’s slumber. As much as Crowley drank the day and night before, Aziraphale thought he probably could use every minute of extra sleep available.

Aziraphale put the electric kettle on before stepping into the bathroom to shower. As he stood under the spray of hot water, his mind began to wander. Why had Crowley drunk so much the day before? While Crowley _could_ drink heavily, and at times _would_ , it wasn’t a particularly common occurrence, and never to that extreme. Had he been on the right track last night, wondering if it was because Crowley suspected Aziraphale himself might have developed feelings? He hoped not. But more importantly, he hoped that _whatever_ it was that had bothered Crowley enough to send him to the bottom of several bottles the day prior, that it was better now.

Aziraphale added that to the growing list of concerns he would eventually need to deal with.

Aziraphale stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself in a towel to fish through the bag Crowley had packed for him. He found a pair of cornflower blue boxer briefs. The fabric was so wonderfully soft between his fingers. There was something incredibly sybaritic about the idea of wearing something so intimately personal that Crowley had selected for him. It was exciting, somehow, thrilling, even.

Aziraphale sat down in front of the mirror, pulling tools from his bag to sort his hair. Once again, he found himself smiling as he dug through the bag. Crowley wanted to _please_ Aziraphale. Regardless of anything else about their arrangement dynamic, that was clear. Crowley wanted to _continue_ pleasing Aziraphale, if the bag of toiletries and tools meant to be kept at Crowley’s flat after this trip were any indication.

Beginning to feel much better, Aziraphale slipped on the undergarments Crowley had provided for him. His heart fluttered at the feel of the sinfully soft fabric as it caressed his skin in his most personal of areas. His breath caught in his throat as he closed his eyes, savoring memories of Crowley’s touch.

Wearing these underpants felt extremely amatory and sensual for Aziraphale. He tilted his head back, licking his lips as he let the sensation wash over him.

“ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale whispered, eyes closed. _As long as I have these on, Crowley is touching me wherever I go._

Aziraphale turned around at the sleepy groan from behind him.

“D’djou say somethin’, Angel?” Crowley mumbled sleepily, rubbing his palms against his eyes as he attempted to sit up.

“I’m so dreadfully sorry, my dear,” Aziraphale said, blushing gently as he stood up to fetch cups for tea.

Crowley smiled with a sense of pride as he caught sight of what Aziraphale was wearing. Stretching, he looked over at the table to see a matching pair of red and blue jelly dildoes neatly placed side by side.

“Oh,” Crowley’s eyes widened slightly, looking down to realize all he was wearing was a sheer, and open, robe. “Did, did we—”

“No,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head with an amused grin. “Not with _those_ , anyway. _You_ , er, you pulled them both out of your bag and tried to spin one in each hand. I was concerned you’d knock yourself unconscious.” Crowley noticed the smirking arch of Aziraphale’s eyebrow in the mirror as he poured hot water from the kettle into two cups on the countertop. “Against my better judgement, I took them away.”

“Against your better judgement?”

“An _unconscious_ Crowley is a _quiet_ one.”

“Oi!” Crowley said, immediately grabbing his head in remorse.

“Did you think to pack any first aid supplies?” Aziraphale asked gently, a pang of sympathy shooting through him, but only a small one. He did, after all, attempt to get Crowley to eat and drink last night. “Some paracetamol, perhaps?”

“Y-yeah,” Crowley grunted, his hands still over his eyes. “In my big bag on the side there.” He fell back onto the pillow. “I don’t remember any of that. How bad was I?”

Aziraphale grinned, rummaging around for the pain reliever as their tea steeped. “At first, you very loudly explained, in vivid, technicolor detail, what you intended to do to me. When Mr. Tyler, who is staying next door, by the by, knocked on the door to complain, you told him you were from Edinburgh.”

“Ngk,” Crowley said.

“Then, you straddled me and rode me like a horse into battle, attempted the speech from Braveheart while wielding one of those dildos, and ended it shouting about freedom. Then you threw the red dildo against the wall.”

“Did I, now?” Crowley asked, eyes wide.

“You _did_ ,” Aziraphale said, handing Crowley a pair of pills and a cup of water before moving back to fetch their tea. “Drink that. All of it.”

“Yes, Angel,” Crowley said meekly, placing the pills on his tongue and bringing the water to his lips to drink deeply.

“Anything else of interest happen?” Crowley asked, finishing his water.

“Oh, not much. Mr. Tyler called the personal phone of the owner of the hotel.”

Crowley’s head went back slightly in surprise, taking the offered tea from Aziraphale’s hand to blow on it. “How is it we’ve managed not to get tossed out on our ears with _Ronald_ making his complaints?”

“Ah. The owner of this hotel is quite _familiar_ with Mr. Tyler,” Aziraphale grinned. “She _also_ happens to be the owner of the Bugatti Royale that’s featured next to your Bentley,” he said, showing Crowley the circled image on a car show flyer, pointing to the _Restomod Cars_ label above both car photos in that section.

It took but a moment for the hamster wheel in his head to start spinning, but once it did, Crowley let out a quacking peal of laughter, immediately regretting it as his head began to pound once more.

They took their time getting ready to attend the final day of the show, as Crowley felt as though he had been dropped from a very high point only to come to a very sudden and impolite stop. They had time, since the only thing that Crowley was required to do today involved the vehicle parade, which wasn’t until that evening to close out the event.

They wandered through the different tents and games of chance, finding themselves stopping at a booth full of bowls of water. There was a large stuffed goldfish hanging above the display.

Crowley marveled at the way Aziraphale’s eyes lit up as he dug his wallet out to hand money to the attendant.

“Now, I fully intend to win a prize for you, my dear, but I don’t want to be the only one having any fun. I’ve paid for _both_ of us to have five attempts each,” Aziraphale said with excitement as he handed Crowley five ping pong balls. “Now, if you’ll look, all we need do is for one of us to hit that single cup in the center.”

“And then what?” Crowley asked with an amused grin.

“And then that fish is yours.”

“Really?”

“It can’t be _that_ hard.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale explain with fond amusement. He knew _exactly_ what was going to happen, having helped out in similar games a time or two in his youth, but there was no way in Hell he would discourage the smile on his angel’s face by saying anything about it. Instead, he just nodded along to show he was listening to every word.

“Oh, _sugar_ ,” Aziraphale swore, in his own way. “I missed them all.”

Crowley smiled, passing his three remaining balls to Aziraphale. “Go on, then, Angel.”

“But I bought those for _you_ ,” Aziraphale pouted.

“And that’s why it would be gracious of you to allow me to use them as I see fit,” Crowley said in an attempt to convince Aziraphale. “Think of it as me selecting my champion.”

Aziraphale scrunched his nose. “Well, I suppose,” he said, quickly throwing the first of the three balls, watching it bounce off to the ground to roll away. The second shot ended up in the same manner.

“Angel,” Crowley said, coming up behind him and taking his wrists to help him line up for his last shot. “You need to relax your arm and your hip before you throw. You’re too tight, and that cocks up your movement.”

Crowley released Aziraphale’s wrist, but stayed close behind him as the angel took his final throw.

The two of them watched as the ball rolled and spun along multiple rims, cascading down the waterfall of water bowls until landing soundly in one at the bottom.

Aziraphale gasped. “We won! What did we win?”

 _It isn’t that giant stuffed goldfish, of that, I’m certain,_ Crowley thought, keeping that to himself. He couldn’t hide his groan as the attendant handed Aziraphale a plastic bag full of water. “Oh, _no_.”

“Crowley, it’s a fish!” Aziraphale said, offering him the bag. “A real one!”

“You’re going to have to keep it,” Crowley said.

“But it’s yours,” Aziraphale pouted. “You should keep it.”

Crowley dipped his head to look at Aziraphale with a Cheshire grin, knowing exactly how to handle this. “I’m sure Figgs will appreciate that.”

“Oh, yes, right,” Aziraphale said sheepishly. He had forgotten about the fate of Crowley’s previous fish. “Very well,” Aziraphale said with a roll of his shoulders. “But you’ll still need to name it.

“Ugh,” Crowley groaned once more. “Fine. Uh…” He thought for a moment, looking down at the fish in the bag. This one wasn’t quite like most of the other goldfish he had seen at events like this. This particular fish had a nice, vibrant gradient of shimmering golden orange and a high dorsal fin. Not uncommon in general, but fairly rare when it came to comet goldfish raised as feeder fish for larger specimens. "Cleo," he said with a shrug.

They walked around, discussing fish care and assorted trivial, all the while Crowley checking to see how Cleo was doing in the plastic bag. He hoped they soon could find another opaque bag to put the transparent bag in to reduce stress in the fish. If it were to survive, he’d need to be especially careful of—

“Oi, you!” R.P. Tyler said angrily, having bumped against Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley looked up, growling in frustration. “Tyler!”

Aziraphale smiled politely towards the man with the handlebar mustache.

“Young man, I do not appreciate your inability to navigate in the manner of a reasonable person.”

“Excuse me,” Crowley said, his Estuary accent once again intact, “But you bumped into _me_.”

R.P Tyler’s eyebrows shot up. “Your accent! I knew you were mocking me last night!”

“Ronald, leave him alone. Let’s go,” the man next to R.P. Tyler said.

“Thurston, I almost dropped my croissant!”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “You almost made me drop my fish!”

“Young man, this croissant cost more than that fish, I can assure you.”

The combination of the continued use of _young man_ along with the obvious disregard for his fish’s well-being flew through Crowley. “Hold my fish, Angel.”

“Crowley—” Aziraphale began nervously, taking the bag from Crowley’s hand.

“How can you _possibly_ compare a baked good, of which you could brush off and still eat, to the life and well-being of a living creature?” Crowley asked, moving around with intention as he spoke. “Fish have _feelings_ , you know.”

Aziraphale furrowed his eyebrows. “Weren’t you _just_ telling me that—”

“Shh,” Crowley turned with a grimace, pinching his fingers together in a gesture of hush. “Not in front of the old queens, Angel.” Crowley looked back over at R.P. Tyler. “But had we not been interrupted quite so rudely,” Crowley said loudly, “I could have _explained_ to you that their lateral line is a system of nerves. You know about _nerves_ , don’t you, _Ronald_? Seeing as you’re on my last one right now?”

“Young man, I have a reputation in this community—”

“Ronald, I _know_ your reputation and I’m _astounded.”_

There are some things it is very difficult to say. What R.P. Tyler truly wanted to say was…

_“Young man, your car is an abomination!”_

But he couldn’t. His husband was already irritated with the way he had dragged that poor woman from her slumber the night before to lodge a complaint against this young man for doing the same things in a hotel room that he and Thurston had done in their own closeted youth. So he said…

“Young man, it would be beneficial to you to watch where you’re walking, particularly when in an unfamiliar area.”

When what he _wanted_ to say was…

_“Young man, your car should be set on fire, yet you’re still intent on showing it, and quite frankly, it is in no fit condition to drive in this event!”_

“Right, got it,” Crowley said rolling his eyes with a huff as he allowed Aziraphale to guide him gently away by the arm. “Terrific,” he said as they began to walk away.

Ronald Tyler’s middle initial may not have stood for _pedant_ , but it was not for lack of effort. “Young man!” He called out, suddenly unable to help himself. He had to say _something_.

Crowley turned around, his voice weary. He had had quite enough of being called _young man_ this weekend. “Yes?”

R.P. Tyler inhaled, opening his mouth to speak, only to be stymied by the withering stare of his husband. “Very unusual weather for the time of year.”

Crowley shrugged with disinterest. “I’m afraid I hadn’t noticed,” he said, turning to walk away once more.

R.P. Tyler said with quiet rage as they moved further away, “That’s because your _stupid car_ should be set on _fire_!”  
  


As the day wound down and the event came to a close, it was time for the parade. Crowley, still somewhat hungover from the night before, did _not_ feel up to driving. He just wanted to go back to the hotel and crawl into bed. Luckily, the parade was at a spine-tingling five miles per hour in a loop circuit around the village square. All he practically needed to do was hold the wheel. Aziraphale had promised to ride along with him, talking to him to ensure he stayed alert and on track. Luckily, given the modifications made to the car, it reacted the same as an automatic transmission in that he didn’t have to actually press the accelerator to move forward so long as the engine was running. All he really needed to do was steer and brake if necessary. _Yet another benefit of my classic fucking car_ , Crowley thought with a petty laugh as he glared through the window towards _Ronald_.

Crowley looked back across to see Aziraphale smiling at him, happily holding Cleo in his lap. _How did I ever get this lucky?_ Crowley thought as he returned the smile and turned to watch the car ahead of him to make certain he stopped at the appropriate times.

Upon getting back to the hotel room, Crowley requested another ice bucket from the front desk to create a makeshift holder for Cleo until he could come up with a better solution when they returned to London the next day. He very carefully poured water from the bag into an empty bottle and began shaking it thoroughly.

“What the devil are you doing?” Aziraphale asked, wondering if Crowley had somehow managed to start drinking without him.

“I’m aerating the water. I don’t have a bubbler right now, but this will work short-term,” he said, pouring the freshly-agitated water from the bottle back in with the rest. “If this were a larger container, I could just pour the water directly in from high up, but that might stress the fish out, being right next to all that water moving when they’ve already been stressed out so much.”

“I had no idea,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley shrugged. “I like fish.”

Crowley had already put out some search feelers for a specific type of aquarium, finding out there was an auction in a couple of weeks near London, but he kept that to himself.

They decided to have dinner in the room rather than going out, Crowley electing to dramatically lie across the bed to allow Aziraphale to feed him marinated olives and bits of cheese from the antipasto before sitting up to eat properly. Bellies full, they curled up underneath the covers to watch a movie. Crowley’s mood for sci-fi combined with Aziraphale’s mood for a period piece perfectly upon discovering _Berkeley Square_ was an option.

“Wait, is that the television series or the movie?”

“The movie,” Crowley squinted, looking at the guide. “I don’t think I could stay up long enough to watch an entire series.”

“Neither do I,” Aziraphale agreed, turning off the lamp to settle in. He generally enjoyed most black and white films, with few exceptions. There was much to be said for the showmanship involved in telling a story without relying so heavily on special effects, he thought.

As the light from the television screen flickered through the darkness of their room, Aziraphale leaned over to ask Crowley’s opinion on one of the outfits on screen only to discover he had fallen asleep. Aziraphale smiled, putting an arm around him to draw Crowley close, and finished watching the movie. When it was over, he turned off the television and snuggled up to Crowley to go to sleep.

The drive back to London was pleasantly uneventful. They made a stop at a pet store long enough for Crowley to run in for a boxed aquarium kit as a temporary set up for Cleo before heading to the bookshop.

Aziraphale went upstairs to put his things away, other than the items that would be going back to Crowley’s flat, and left Crowley down in the back room to set up the tank.

Crowley wasn’t particularly happy with setting up a tank and immediately putting a fish into it instead of allowing it to run for a few days first, but needs must.

“You who were destined to a short life of being forgotten and discarded,” Crowley quietly spoke to the fish as he gently tilted the bag to the side in the temporary tank, “I’m going to do everything I can to make certain you have a _home_. You’ll have a palace, and gorgeous plants…” Crowley sighed, his voice trailing off momentarily before he leaned down to whisper to the fish swimming around in the tank. “And someone to love you.”

The morning of the auction that had several Victorian aquariums listed had finally arrived. Crowley did not mention this to Aziraphale, and attended alone.

_Almost_ alone, anyway.

“ _Oh_ ,” Crowley gasped, looking at the image of the items available on the screen behind the auctioneer. There was an assortment of Victorian iron fountain aquariums, which he had come for, but there was one in particular that stood out. Rather than the more commonly-found egret or seahorse base, this particular one had _angels_ , their wing tips extended upwards, touching the bottom of the tank itself as a support.

Nothing and no one would stop him from getting that aquarium for _his_ angel, no matter the cost.

“My, my, my,” Glozier said as he approached Crowley. “Whatever prize might it be that has caught the Serpent’s eye?”

“I don’t know,” Kleinschmidt said, typing into her phone after taking a picture of the screen. “But I’m certain we’ll find out soon enough.” She winked at Crowley as Glozier offered his arm to her to walk away.

Crowley had no interest in the other items at the auction today. He was quite pleased that the aquariums were up first.

It annoyed him the way Glozier and Kleinschmidt were shadowing him. He was half-tempted to bid on a few of the other aquariums just to get them to bid as well.

“Thank goodness he didn’t bring that shithead Fell with him this time,” Glozier whispered loudly in German to Kleinschmidt.

Temptation accomplished, Crowley feigned interest and let them win bidding on three of the aquariums before the one he actually wanted was up.

“Four-thousand pounds,” Crowley aggressively snarled loudly, glaring at Glozier, who kept attempting to outbid him at every turn.

Several people in the group gasped, turning their heads.

“Sir, there is no need to shout,” the auctioneer said before addressing the rest of the auction once more. “The bid is at four thousand pounds,” he said, surveying the audience for any further indication of bid intentions.

Though there were still several aquariums left for bidding, Crowley walked directly to the cashier after winning his bid.

“I suppose you think you’ve played us for suckers,” Glozier said, crowding Crowley on his right side at the cashier’s window.

“Do you feel proud of yourself, Serpent?” Kleinschmidt said with a huff as she sidled up next to him on the left.

“What’s the matter, Harmony couldn’t find a buyer for you while you were trying to usurp my selections?”

“There is nothing _nefarious_ about a bit of friendly competition in an auction,” Kleinschmidt said, looking at him crossly.

“No,” Crowley agreed, “But that’s not how you lot operate, now, is it?”

Glozier glared at him momentarily. “What sort of client could you _possibly_ have that would pay that much for this aquarium?”

“Not for a client,” Crowley said quietly as he filled out the address on the delivery ticket. “Recently found myself in possession of an impromptu goldfish. Just needed somewhere to put it.”

“A.Z. Fell and Co.” Glozier began to grin wickedly as he looked down at the address Crowley had written on the paper. “Oh, I see. Angels for your _angel_.”

Crowley cut his eyes up, visible above the glasses that had slid down his nose. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s what you call him, isn’t it?” Kleinschmidt asked sweetly.

Crowley silently shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head.

“Do not play dumb with me, _Serpent_ ,” Glozier said. “ _Everyone_ knows you’re completely gone for Fell.”

 _Everyone but **him**_ , Crowley thought, attempting to ignore the small audience that had formed around them.

“And now you’re raising a goldfish together,” Glozier said, chuckling as he looked around at the others. “How very _domestic_.”

Crowley lifted his head, shaking it with a sneering grin before turning back to his paperwork.

“Oh, how _precious_ ,” Greta cooed, batting her eyes.

“Congratulations! Will there be a shower?” Another person Crowley did not recognize asked with a smirk.

“Yes, you simply _must_ tell us if there is anything else you’ll need,” Glozier grinned.

“Where are the two of you registered?”

“Whatever shall you name it?”

“The fish is named Cleo!” Crowley hissed, having had enough. He shoved his completed paperwork through the window, turning around to throw two fingers in the air behind him as he stormed off.

By the time Crowley got back to London, it was just past 1:00. Crowley knew that on Tuesdays, Aziraphale ran the shop by himself, but closed at 2:00, using the time to catch up on paperwork, inventory, and for private appointments from professional collectors. On these days, Aziraphale generally worked through to close before taking a meal break, electing instead to have a few small breaks for a cup of tea throughout the day. Unable to shake the nervous energy he had been left with after his encounter with the Glozier and Kleinschmidt, he found himself walking through the door to the bookshop without remembering making the conscious decision to go there.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale greeted happily. “I thought you were out of town today. I didn’t expect to see you.”

Crowley smiled, though the tension was evident in his eyes. “Y-yeah. Cleared my entire day, but got done a bit earlier than I expected. I’ve got nothing on for the rest of the afternoon. Have you had lunch?”

Aziraphale noticed something off about Crowley. “Not yet, my dear. Why don’t you go have a seat in the back while I get things situated here, then we can go after I lock up.”

Crowley nodded and headed to the back to say hello to Cleo.

Once Aziraphale had determined it was close enough to 2:00, he drew the shades and locked the doors, turning the sign to closed. During lunch, Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice how tightly wound Crowley appeared to be. He was entirely too jumpy and tense. He tried to get Crowley to explain what was wrong, but to no avail.

Aziraphale would need to do something about that, and he had _just_ the thing in mind. He only needed a few things to get it set up.

“You may not have anything on for this afternoon, but I do. I’m quite busy today,” Aziraphale said as they walked into the shop.

Crowley nodded. “Right, okay. I’ll be popping along then.”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve already stated that you aren’t busy,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley looked jittery and puzzled. “And you _are_.”

“Yes, quite. And I have something I need you to do for me.”

“Oh,” Crowley perked up. “Right, okay. Yeah, I can do that. What do you need?”

“I need for you to go fetch a few things,” Aziraphale explained. “Do you like coconut water?”

Crowley shook his head with a frown. He did not, in fact, like the watery piss of a coconut. “I really don’t. But I’ll get you some if you like.”

“Oh, no, what I need you to get isn’t for me. Just pick some sort of hydrating beverage that you like, and bring it back here.”

Crowley’s head pulled back slightly in surprise. Hydrating beverage?

“Really, if you could get on with it? I definitely _must_ get back to work,” Aziraphale said. “Bring at least two bottles of whatever it is you select. More if you’d like to keep some on hand here.”

“Right,” Crowley said, looking confused as he walked through the door.

As soon as Aziraphale saw Crowley walking away, he set out upstairs to his flat to gather a few items. He came down with an armload of cushions, pillows, and a couple of blankets. He arranged them underneath his desk, essentially creating a little nest beneath it.

He had just finished placing things the way he thought might be most comfortable when he heard a knock at the window above his desk. Prepared to point the errant customer to the sign for the booking website Gabriel created for appointments along with shop hours, Aziraphale was quite pleased instead to find Crowley pressing his hands and face to the glass in an attempt to peek inside.

“Unlock the door.”

“I’ll be right there,” Aziraphale said cheerfully.

Crowley handed the bag to Aziraphale upon entering the shop. Aziraphale placed the bag on the worktop in the kitchenette, guiding Crowley over to his desk.

“What’s all this?” Crowley asked, looking down beneath the desk.

“You seem a bit discombobulated,” Aziraphale explained. “I have an idea of how to help, and I’d like for you to be comfortable in the process.”

Crowley’s face shifted into a form of understanding. “Oh,” he said nodding. “You want me to get under the desk?”

“Yes, please,” Aziraphale said with a smile.

“Yeah, okay,” Crowley said. “You want me to suck you off while you work, is that it?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Not quite, no,” he said.

Crowley’s face shifted back into confusion.

“I will be working at the desk, yes. And you will be underneath it, but the object is not to fellate, my dear.”

Crowley groaned. “Why do you say it like that?”

Aziraphale grinned wickedly. “Because it annoys you.”

“Right,” Crowley huffed a laugh. “So, what _is_ the object, then?”

“The object is for you to keep my cock warm with your mouth.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “But you just said—”

“I said the object was not to fellate. You won’t be making any attempts to bring me to completion of any kind. You will simply hold your mouth on me for as long as you are comfortable. That is literally all you need do.”

Crowley blinked a few times. “I don’t understand.”

“You said you were free for the rest of the day, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Now, I won’t press you, as you’ve already stated you don’t want to talk about whatever is bothering you. But something is _clearly_ bothering you, so I’m giving you an alternative option. You have no responsibilities to attend for the rest of the day. No appointments, nothing to be late for.”

Crowley nodded, listening intently.

“What I am offering you is a singular purpose,” Aziraphale explained. “One _single_ thing to focus on. I will take care of anything else happening around you to assist you in this. Your only task, the _one_ responsibility you must maintain, is keeping my cock warm in your mouth for as long as you comfortably can. If it gets the least bit uncomfortable, I am _asking_ that you stop if you are unable to adjust to a comfortable position.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, trying to imagine this.

“The goal here is not to have sex. The goal is to get you to relax while I get some work done. You are not to attempt to stroke me with your hands, tongue, or lips.”

“I just sit there, with your cock in my mouth,” Crowley said in an attempt to confirm what he was hearing.

“Yes.”

“All right,” Crowley said, sitting on the edge of the desk. “Do I need to be naked, or dressed, or…”

“Be as comfortable as you’d like. Take off or leave on whatever you need to do so.”

Crowley nodded, pondering as he took his jacket and shoes off. Eventually, he elected to strip down to his camisole and boxer briefs before climbing underneath the desk.

Aziraphale sat down in the rolling chair in front of Crowley at the desk. “You may begin,” Aziraphale said, unfastening his trousers and pulling himself out.

Crowley carefully adjusted himself on the cushions underneath his knees, finding them quite comfortable once he leaned forward against Aziraphale’s legs. He adjusted himself a few times until he found the right angle to approach, both in his knee comfort as well as his neck.

“Do I need to, you know, get you up first?”

“No,” Aziraphale answered patiently. “As I said, the goal here is not sexual pleasure. It is an exercise in relaxation.”

“Right,” Crowley said. Gently, he took Aziraphale’s soft cock into his mouth and settled in.

Aziraphale smiled, picking up a pen to begin. He had no appointments booked for today, and was caught up on all of his paperwork, but Crowley needn’t’ know that. Aziraphale began to write and doodle on the note pad in front of him.

The phone on Aziraphale’s desk rang. Aziraphale put his pen down, glancing across the paper where he had been practicing his calligraphy by writing Crowley’s name over and over again, to answer it.

“I’m afraid we’re most definitely quite closed,” he said. “So long as you understand this, you’ve reached A. Z. Fell and Co. Aziraphale speaking.”

Crowley tried his best to stifle a laugh, huffing a breath through his nose as fingers tightened in his hair. This did not help with his composure. He grinned, keeping his mouth steady while he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, resting his head on the angel’s thigh as Aziraphale continued his phone conversation.

“Ah, no, I don’t believe I have _The Viviparous Quadrupeds Of North America, Volume 2_ ,” Aziraphale said, writing it down on another notepad. “But I could—”

Aziraphale paused, looking down to see Crowley tapping gently against his stomach. He removed his hand from Crowley’s hair to cover the mouthpiece of the phone, holding it away as he whispered, “Do you need to get up, my dear? You don’t need permission to stop.”

Crowley grunted a negative, motioning with his hand to indicate writing. Aziraphale handed Crowley the notepad he had just written the book name on, careful to keep the other notepad on top of the desk, and a pen.

Crowley quickly scribbled something down, passing the notepad back.

Aziraphale looked down to read the paper with an arrow leading to the name of the book.

> **_I have that_**

“And you wouldn’t mind parting with it?” Aziraphale asked in a whisper, handing the notepad back while holding the mouthpiece against his stomach to muffle his voice.

> **_4 U_**

Aziraphale smiled warmly, uncovering the mouthpiece and reaching back down to card through Crowley’s hair affectionately. “Please do forgive the delay,” he spoke into the phone. “It appears I may have that after all.” There was a pause. “Oh, no, not today, I’m afraid. The book is in another location, and I’ll need to confirm it and have it transported here. If you could call back tomorrow afternoon, I should know more by then. Might I also have a telephone number with which to reach you as well?” Aziraphale jotted the number down on the page. “Yes, thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m terribly busy at the moment. Pip-pip!” He said, hanging up the phone. He ignored the scoff from below the desk as he tore the top page of the notepad off, spindling it to keep, and handed the notepad back to Crowley. “Keep this in your hand, dear boy, so that you will have it at the ready in the event you need it again.”

Crowley nodded slightly, taking the notepad from Aziraphale’s fingertips. He shifted around a bit to get comfortable again. He swallowed on reflex, pulling an accidentally sharp breath from Aziraphale. Brown and amber flecked eyes, open wide and nervous, were met with soothing shades of hazel, blue, and green.

“You can relax. I know you didn’t intend for that to happen. It’s all right. You do whatever you need to do to get comfortable, and if you can’t, you may stop at any time. That will please me _very_ much, Crowley. Do you understand?”

Crowley nodded gently, carefully moving his head so as not to slip off or hurt Aziraphale.

After several minutes, Crowley found himself feeling much more relaxed than he had in some time. They had done other things in the past that came close to making him feel like this, boneless and calm, but something about _this_ , about Crowley not having to worry over anything, because Aziraphale would take care of it, had lifted a burden from Crowley’s shoulders, even if only temporarily so.

Aziraphale looked down at Crowley. He ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair, gently scratching at his scalp. He noticed Crowley’s breathing was even, but his eyes seemed unfocused.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said softly, still stroking through his hair.

When Crowley didn’t respond, Aziraphale reached over to slip a finger into Crowley’s palm, squeezing his hand twice to await the response they had agreed to previously for times when Crowley found himself otherwise unable to speak. Crowley squeezed around Aziraphale’s finger twice, his eyes slowly moving to look at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale smiled happily back down at Crowley. “Still with me, my dear?”

Two squeezes.

“Good. How are you doing? Are you comfortable?”

Two more squeezes.

“Are you ready to stop?”

There was a pause before a single squeeze was offered.

“Does that mean you want to keep going?”

A flurry of squeezes followed in response.

“It’s all right, now, my dear,” Aziraphale said, smiling peacefully down at Crowley. “I’ve got you. You can relax now.”

Crowley, ever eager to do as he was instructed, found himself relaxing once more as Aziraphale brought his left hand back above the desk, keeping the fingers of his right-hand flexing gently through Crowley’s hair. Crowley listened to the soothing scratch of Aziraphale’s pen nib across the paper above his head as it timed up with the delicate pressure of fingernails on his skin.

Crowley took a deep breath, allowing the scent of Aziraphale to fill him, to consume him in return. Crowley was slightly surprised at his lack of sexual reaction to the combination of the senses, particularly the taste and smell of being surrounded, and surrounding, Aziraphale. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy this, quite the opposite, in fact. Crowley felt _good_ in a way he had not previously known, at least not to this extent.

Crowley let out a sigh of contentment as he realized there were no issues to resolve in this moment. Everything he had set out to do for the day was already done. The only thing he needed to do was exactly this, only this. Keep Aziraphale’s cock warm.

There were no angry voices, no unkind words, no expectations or accusations or anything else. He was protected, guarded by the angel before him. Nothing and no one would get past Aziraphale to find Crowley if he didn’t want it to. Underneath this desk, between Aziraphale’s legs, he was concealed, but not _hidden_. Crowley felt secure.

 _“It’s all right, now, my dear,”_ Aziraphale’s voice echoed in his head. _“I’ve got you. You can relax now.”_

Relax. This would please Aziraphale. Aziraphale would take care of everything else so that all Crowley needed to do was…

_Relax._

_Feels good._

_He’s got me...  
He said so._

_He will take care of everything.  
He will take care of **me**._

_I’m…_

_Safe?_

_Yeah. I think so._

_I can let it all go. I’m here. I’m here with **him**. He’s here. He has me. He can **have** me._

**_His_ ** _._

_I’m **his** and he **has me** and nothing else can get to me and I’m safe and… And… And he trusts me. He trusts me to do this. I will do this **for** him. I will be good and… And when I do this for him, he will take care of everything else._

_For **me**._

_He does this for **me**._

_All I have to do…_

_Is relax._

Aziraphale heard a noise beneath the desk. He looked down to see the notepad Crowley had been holding had been dropped on the floor, though Crowley made no motion to indicate he had noticed it himself. Aziraphale’s hand brushed the hair that had fallen over Crowley’s eyes back. “Crowley?”

When there was no response, he slipped his finger back into Crowley’s hand, squeezing twice.

Still no response.

Aziraphale smiled down at Crowley, breathing so calmly and evenly. “I suppose you’ve had enough now,” Aziraphale said, gently moving Crowley back, being careful to brace him so he wouldn’t fall while leaning him against the inner wall underneath the desk. Aziraphale quickly tucked his member back inside of his pants, zipping up and fastening his trousers, and stood up. Keeping a watchful eye on Crowley as he did so, Aziraphale stepped over to the kitchenette to fetch a bottle of the electrolyte water that Crowley had brought, pouring some in a tartan mug. He placed the items on the edge of his desk, then moved the chair away. Aziraphale let out a satisfied hum as he looked back down to see how relaxed Crowley was. Deciding against his initial thought of placing Crowley onto the couch, Aziraphale lowered himself to the floor, cross legged, in front of Crowley.

Gently, Aziraphale reached for Crowley, pulling him into his lap, bringing Crowley’s head to rest against his shoulder. He wrapped a blanket around him, tucking it in to keep him from getting a chill. Aziraphale held him there, rocking him back and forth calmly as he stroked along his hair. Aziraphale reached up for the mug, bringing it cautiously to Crowley’s lips just enough to encourage a tiny sip. Mindful not to go too fast, he tilted the mug against Crowley’s mouth again, encouraged by Crowley’s attempt to drink in spite of his current state.

Feeling Crowley’s arms tighten around him as he shifted in his lap, Aziraphale leaned down, kissing the top of his head before brushing noses and pressing their foreheads together. “Welcome back,” Aziraphale whispered with a sigh of relief. “Drink this,” Aziraphale said, looping the handle of the mug over Crowley’s fingers to help ensure it didn’t fall in these early moments as he regained lucidity. Crowley’s other hand wrapped around Aziraphale’s wrist to keep it there. “It will help.” Aziraphale’s hand on the mug merely supported it. It was important to allow Crowley to control how much he drank, Aziraphale thought, as he came down. Aziraphale busied his other hand by rubbing firmly along Crowley’s back in an attempt to ground him back to reality.

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, still unable to speak just yet, taking tiny sips from the mug.

“Did you have a nice time on your little trip?” Aziraphale asked, unable to hide the fond grin on his face. “It’s all right if you can’t speak yet.”

Without breaking eye contact, almost without blinking, Crowley softly squeezed his hand along Aziraphale’s wrist twice.

“I’m ever so pleased to know that,” Aziraphale said supportively. “Maybe when you’re done, we could have dinner tonight? Anything you like. My treat.”

Crowley blinked slowly, considering.

“Perhaps we could have something delivered from one of those lovely little Italian places you like so much. You could stay nice, cozy, and relaxed. You needn’t lift a finger. I’d take care of everything. How does that sound? Would you like that?”

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s wrist two more times before turning his head to nuzzle in more closely to him.

Aziraphale took the now empty mug from Crowley’s hand, placing it back on top of the desk before pulling Crowley the rest of the way into his lap to continue rocking him within his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics that Crowley mangled while drunkenly singing them are from Pinocchio. 
> 
> **I’ve Got No Strings**
> 
> I've got no strings  
> So I have fun  
> I'm not tied up to anyone  
> They've got strings  
> But you can see  
> There are no strings on me  
> You have no strings  
> Your arms is free  
> To love me by the Zuider Zee  
> Ya, ya, ya  
> If you would woo  
> I'd bust my strings for you


	9. Right In Front Of My Salad?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Polydactyl snakes and angels, salads, Karenziraphale 9000, surprises, confessions, and the Goldfish Who Would Be Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Caedmon.  
>  _Be Careful What You Wish For._

“Any preferences, Angel?” Crowley asked as he crouched in front of Bea and Gabriel’s massive media tower shelves.

“Angel?” Bea mouthed wordlessly to Gabriel, who grinned with mischievous delight as he nodded behind Crowley and Aziraphale’s backs.

“I don’t know what I want, but if you offer suggestions, I’ll probably know what I _don’t_ ,” Aziraphale said, settling down on the couch with a glass of wine. In an attempt to integrate Crowley into the group, Bea had suggested Aziraphale invite him to their bi-weekly movie night. Aziraphale was quite agreeable with the idea, and had invited him right away.

Naturally, Crowley found time.

“Fair enough,” Crowley mused. “You actually have Armageddon?” Crowley asked, looking up at Gabriel with a grin as he pulled the case from the DVD collection. “I haven’t seen this in donkey’s years.”

“ _That_ one,” Gabriel said, pointing at the DVD with enthusiasm. “Armageddon _must_ restart.”

“Crowley, you _traitor_ ,” Bea groaned.

“That’s not a nice word,” Crowley grimaced, looking between the two of them.

“All the other words I have for you are _worse_ ,” She said. “You don’t know what you’ve done.” She turned to her husband. “I’m _not_ watching that with you again. I should get rid of that DVD.”

Gabriel grinned, wrapping his arms around her. “A temporary inconvenience is not going to get in the way of the ultimate good. Not when I can just get a digital copy that you can’t break.”

“As to what it stands in the way of, that has yet to be decided, but the movie must be decided _now_.” She stepped away from Gabriel and walked over to Aziraphale. “And that’s _not_ it.”

“What do you have against this movie?” Crowley asked.

“Bea doesn’t know what _fun_ is,” Gabriel said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Gabe doesn’t know he’s not Ben Affleck,” Bea said, glaring at her husband. “And now I can’t have animal crackers anymore without him chasing them after me.”

Gabriel grinned at her before turning his attention back to the DVD in Crowley’s hand.

Bea sat on the arm of the couch and leaned over to Aziraphale. “Can you talk some sense into them?”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows flew up. “Me? How do you expect me to do that? There are _two_ of them now.”

Bea groaned yet again, watching helplessly as Crowley and Gabriel stood together pointing to the back of the DVD case as they discussed their favorite parts.

Aziraphale sighed, looking at the ceiling. “If you’ve got something animated, dangle it in front of Crowley. He’ll grab at it like a monkey with a shiny object.”

“Really?” Bea asked, amused.

Aziraphale nodded his head slowly, his lips pressed together in a tight line.

“Hmm,” she hummed, standing up to walk over to the DVD shelf. “Crowley,” Bea said, trying to get his attention from the conversation he was having with Gabriel. “Crowley,” she repeated. When he still hadn’t responded, she stepped over between them. “Crowley, for fuck’s sake! _Pspspspspsps_!” she said, wiggling the fingers of one hand at him while pointing at a lower DVD shelf with the other. “Aziraphale said you liked cartoons.”

Crowley’s head whipped around. “Have you got Pinocchio?”

“No, but we’ve got—”

“Ooh, Frozen 2!” Crowley said, pulling it from the shelf. “D’you know, I actually thought that the song in the end credits was being sung by the snowman?”

“It’s _not_?” Gabriel asked, eyebrows lifting.

“No ** _p_** e,” Crowley said, popping the _p_. “That’s actually how the lead singer sounds. Messed up my whole day when I figured that out.”

Gabriel sat down heavily. “Yeah, okay. I can see that being a difficult thing to learn.”

They ultimately put music on instead of a movie so that Crowley and Gabriel could compare notes on voice actors versus musicians, moving on to new and diverse topics as the group worked against their own sobriety.

“No, that’s that poly-policu-pol—”

“Polydactyl?” Gabriel offered, interrupting Crowley’s attempt at the multisyllabic mouthful of a monstrosity.

“You sell textbooks!” Aziraphale remarked, sloshing the drink in his cup as he waved his arm wide. “How are you so incredibly terrible with words?”

“Anne Boleyn was polydactyl,” Crowley said.

Everyone turned to face Crowley with a collective, “What?”

“Mm, y-you know, extra toes.”

“Anne Boleyn had six _fingers_ , Crowley. Not toes.” Aziraphale tilted his head to consider. “Well, I suppose I don’t actually _know_ that.”

“Figgs is polydactyl,” Crowley said casually. “He’s got these ruddy big toes where his thumbs would be, i-if he weren’t so lazy about that whole _evolution_ thing,” Crowley sneered without malice, shaking his head side to side as he picked his glass up once again.

“Who is Figgs?” Bea asked.

Crowley, scandalized, clutched his chest where the pearls of his heart would be were they visible in this plane of existence. “My _preciousss_ ,” he hissed hoarsely.

Bea looked to Aziraphale.

“His cat.”

She nodded.

“Marilyn Monroe had six toes,” Gabriel said, picking up the bottle to top off his wine.

“Nah,” Bea said, holding out her glass. “That’s, s’not true. That was a hoax.”

“You sure about that?” Gabriel asked as he poured.

“Yeah. Trick of the light,” Bea said. “Read it in Snopes.”

Crowley slurped the last out of his glass, smacking his lips. “I wonder what it would be like to be polyduct, duck, duck—”

“Goose?” Aziraphale offered.

“No, Angel, not goose. Geese don’t have toes.” He paused, furrowing his brow. “ _Do_ geese have toes? Must do. That’s how they waddle about with ducks.”

“I’d name it Haley,” Aziraphale said, taking the bottle from Gabriel to refill his and Crowley’s glasses.

“A goose?”

“No, you idiot. An extra toe,” Aziraphale said calmly as if he hadn’t just said exactly what he said.

“Why?” Gabriel asked.

“I think it’s a perfectly reasonable name for an extra toe,” Aziraphale said, defensively. “I’d even paint the nail on it yellow so everyone would know how special it is.”

“I have some yellow polish. We can get started now,” Bea said, standing up to go fetch it.

“But I’ve only got the five on each foot. How would we know which was the extra?”

Gabriel paused, looking at Aziraphale incredulously. “It’ll be the yellow one.” His face scrunched up as he shrugged, blinking.

“Oh,” Aziraphale smiled, completely at ease with the situation now. “Jolly good. We’ll paint Haley yellow.”

“What is it with you and naming things?” Crowley asked, exasperatedly.

Aziraphale thought for a moment. “I honestly couldn’t tell you.”

Bea sat down, looking at the words _formaldehyde free_ on the sunny yellow polish bottle in her hand, then narrowed her eyes to look back at the rest of the group. “Not one bit of this ridiculous conversation has _anything_ to do with the polystyrene ban.”

With roughly 87% of the toes between all parties present painted, they finally settled on a movie. Aziraphale, having _vehemently_ vetoed _Braveheart_ , was the deciding vote on Fantasia. Between the music and the animation, it had been decided that was simple enough to follow given how much they had already had to drink.

Part of the way through the movie Crowley nodded off, curled up against Aziraphale, arms wrapped around him with his head on his shoulder. Bea looked over to see Aziraphale reach over to mindlessly rub circles into the arm across his stomach while watching the movie. She smiled, nudging Gabriel and nodding her head in their direction. Gabriel nodded at her again, the smile on his face this time much more sincere.

At the end of the movie, as much as he hated to do so, Aziraphale set to gently waking Crowley up.

“Crowley,” he whispered. “Crowley, it’s time to wake up now. The movie’s over.”

Crowley groaned into Aziraphale’s chest, having shifted in his sleep a bit further down from Aziraphale’s shoulder. He opened his eyes to look up into eyes that were currently the color of a cloud’s silver lining. “Angel,” Crowley said breathlessly.

“Where you having a lovely dream?” Aziraphale asked, stroking his fingers through Crowley’s hair to move it out of his eyes.

Crowley wordlessly stared up at Aziraphale for an obviously extended moment in time.

Aziraphale kept smiling down at him, patiently.

 _Oh, fuck,_ Crowley thought _. If I don’t say something, I’m going to fuck around and blurt out my feelings and he’ll go away. Just, say something!_

“I’m glad we’re friends,” Crowley said, randomly.

 _Right,_ Crowley thought excitedly, smiling up at him. _That was the perfect thing to say. Yes, that will make Aziraphale happy and it won’t upset him at all._

 _And we’re back to where we started,_ Aziraphale thought. _Friends. Nothing more. I don’t know why I keep deluding myself into thinking it could be any other way._ Aziraphale just smiled back.

The two of them offered to help clean up, but Bea was already guiding them to the door. “Gabe’s got that, you don’t worry over it this time,” she said. “You two have a good night. Be safe getting home,” she said, closing the door behind them before turning around to speak to Gabriel.

“Do they _not_ know they’re in a relationship?” She asked, eyes wide as she threw her arms out.

Gabriel sighed, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. “Bea, everyone _but_ them knows.”

Crowley pulled his shirt on over his head as he stumbled down the stairs, leaving his hair a mess. He followed the aroma of coffee into the kitchenette. He looked upon the worktop to see Aziraphale’s white winged mug next to the kettle, instead picking up the empty black mug with a devil’s tail handle sitting next to the coffee pot that Aziraphale only ever brought out for Crowley’s benefit. As he filled the mug, he felt as though he were being watched. He turned around to find two grinning faces.

“I didn’t even know Aziraphale _had_ a coffee maker,” Gabriel said with a smug grin. “He’s never been much of a coffee drinker.”

“Oh, I did. I’ve seen him putting it away now and then when I’d come in for my shift, though I’ve never seen him drinking any,” Newt said with a shrug. “I just assumed he liked his coffee early in the mornings before I came in.

“We’re not talking about this,” Crowley grunted into his mug. It wasn’t fresh, but it was _coffee_ , and that was good enough for now.

Aziraphale walked into the back room. “Oh, look who’s finally awake. It’s nearly noon, you know.”

“It looks as though you didn’t get a wink of sleep,” Gabriel said, still grinning. “Long night?”

Crowley curled his lip and wobbled his head in response.

“Now, now,” Aziraphale tutted. “You know how tired he was last night. He could barely keep his eyes open during the movie. Walking around the corner from your house to the shop made more sense than trying to walk out to Mayfair. It was purely convenience.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, nodding his head in reluctant agreement. He couldn’t help noticing how Newt looked off to the side guiltily.

“I’ll be done for the day here shortly and we can go to lunch,” Aziraphale said to Crowley, “Though for _you_ it would appear to be breakfast. You might as well wait here.”

Crowley smiled warmly at Aziraphale as he walked back out onto the sales floor, turning his gaze to meet a violet flash above a shit-eating grin.

“Meh,” Crowley grunted and went back up the stairs.

“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale asked pleasantly as he sidled up beside Crowley.

“Angel!” Crowley smiled. “I didn’t know you’d be here. We could have come in together.”

“Last minute decision,” Aziraphale explained. “Gabriel found out about this auction just this morning. I was going to give you a call once I had a chance to look at the list and see if there was anything you might need.”

“Hmm,” Crowley hummed, somehow managing to grin through a pout as he turned to face Aziraphale. “I only just found out about it this morning, too. I was planning to do the same.”

“Crowley!”

Crowley whipped around at the sound of his name to see Gabriel walking towards them.

“It’s good you’re here,” Gabriel said. “I was just looking for Aziraphale to let him know to start apple tree duty.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Aziraphale said, covering his eyes with his hand.

“Apple tree duty?” Crowley repeated questioningly.

“I’ve heard the Serpent of Eden is here.”

“Really?” Crowley said, his eyes lighting up with maniacal delight.

“You know, Ophidian Orchards. Apple tree duty.”

“That’s not what that means,” Crowley said, pulling his head back in confused surprise.

“Ugh,” Gabriel groaned with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You and Aziraphale are two sides of the same coin.” Gabriel looked at Crowley with a smirk. “Anyway, we’re friends, and I thought you should know.”

“Gabriel, Crowley _is_ —"

“Now, now, Angel, let the man speak,” Crowley said, shushing Aziraphale with a wink. “What do you know about this _Serpent of Eden_? What does he look like?”

“I don’t know. All I’ve ever heard is that he has a tattoo and intense eyes. Probably sinister, I guess.” Gabriel laughed.

“Sounds like a real cartoon villain type.” Crowley casually pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head, tucking his hair behind his ear to reveal his tattoo. He batted his eyes, colored as they were by heterochromia, and waited.

And waited.

Aziraphale lifted his eyebrows in lieu of a laugh as he shook his head with a smug smirk.

The three of them moved along the auction together, all three winning several useful items before deciding to head out to a late lunch.

“Ah, Mr. Cornet,” the cashier greeted Gabriel pleasantly. “Oh, and if it isn’t the Serpent of Eden himself!” She cooed, batting her eyes as she propped her head up on her chin with a smile. “I bet you’ve won loads of things today, haven’t you?”

Aziraphale bristled. He didn’t much care for the way that young woman was staring at _his_ …

 _Hmm_ , Aziraphale thought. _I can’t very well call him my boyfriend, now, can I? We’re not together. But still,_ Aziraphale continued on this runaway train of thought, **_you_** _don’t know that. You don’t know our dynamic. And actually, I…_ Aziraphale perked up slightly, realizing that, given the nature of some of the things he and Crowley had been doing together, in some ways Crowley _was_ his.

_He’s my… He’s **my Crowley**._

Before Aziraphale could get too much further into this approximation of a realization, he was pulled rather quickly from his thoughts.

“Hang on a minute,” Gabriel said, spinning around. “You’re the Serpent of Eden?”

Crowley grinned. “I don’t want to say anything rude about the cognitive abilities of those in your alma mater, but between you and Aziraphale, I have some concerns.”

“ _Excuse_ me,” Aziraphale huffed, “But I figured it out the first day.”

“Because you read it on my business card,” Crowley laughed.

“Still,” Aziraphale countered. “I knew within the hour.”

“After you warned me to watch out for myself.”

“No, hang on,” Gabriel repeated. “ _You’re_ the Serpent of Eden?”

“Sharp lot, you are,” Crowley grinned, sliding his completed paperwork over to the cashier with a wink. “Put my things with Mr. Fell’s and have Eric run them by the shop this afternoon, if you would.”

“Anything you say, Mr. Crowley,” she said with a scrunch of her nose that boiled Aziraphale’s blood.

“You aren’t even paying attention to the fact that his books are going to _my_ shop, and I’m _standing right here in front of you_ ,” Aziraphale muttered under his breath.

“What was that, Mr. Fell?” She asked sweetly and without artifice.

Aziraphale’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing you need to worry over, my dear,” he said, tugging at the edges of his waistcoat before turning to beam at Crowley.

“Tempt you to a spot of lunch, Angel?” Crowley asked, lowering his sunglasses with a grin.

“I _am_ a bit peckish,” Aziraphale replied, cutting his eyes back at the cashier as they turned to walk away.

Lunch turned into an ordeal of its own.

Knowing one of the menu items this particular restaurant was revered for, Aziraphale dreaded the moment Gabriel saw it on the menu.

“Hmm,” Gabriel hummed, glancing down at the menu in his hands. “How does crab sound?”

“You know,” Crowley said, not looking up from his own menu, “If you hold a crab up to your ear, you can hear what it’s like to be attacked by a crab.”

“I _have_ heard that, yes,” Gabriel said, also not looking up as he fought the grin attempting to spread across his face.

“I hate you both,” Aziraphale said grumpily. “ _So_ much.”

After a few minutes, they placed their orders with the waiter. As usual, Aziraphale ordered blue cheese dressing to trade with Gabriel. Since he had ordered a large salad as his meal, Aziraphale suggested Crowley also order a side of blue cheese dressing, explaining that they could share the vinaigrette, to ensure Gabriel had plenty. If Bea asked, Gabriel specifically ordered vinaigrette. This was their way, and it _worked_.

While in general, Aziraphale noticed that other people noticed Crowley whenever they were out together, this particular waiter did not, apparently, get that memo. This was discovered after said waiter placed a large garden salad topped with crab with balsamic vinaigrette on the side in front of Gabriel, a bowl of lobster bisque and a chopped chicken and walnut salad with a side of blue cheese dressing in front of Aziraphale, and a single, large bowl of blue cheese dressing in front of Crowley. She rushed off before Crowley found the words that had eluded him.

“Maybe yours isn’t ready yet,” Aziraphale said, glancing around towards the kitchen to see if someone else was coming out.

“Possibly,” Crowley said, staring down at the bowl of dressing. He assumed his might take longer, being that he was familiar with making chicken parmesan at home and knew it took slightly longer than assembling a salad with cold crab or dipping from an existing soup pot. “But they don’t usually bring everyone else’s food out like that, do they?” He scowled at the bowl in front of him. “Could have at least brought my salad.”

“We’ll just wait for yours to come out. You don’t mind, do you, Gabriel?”

Gabriel shook his head, looking towards the kitchen before taking a sip of water. “I don’t mind waiting.”

After several minutes, Crowley managed to get the attention of one of the other waiters, as their waiter appeared to be quite engrossed in whatever game she was playing on her phone.

“Excuse me,” he began, smiling pleasantly. “I was wondering how much longer it might be for my food to be served. My friends here have been so kind as to wait for me, but I’d hate for them to sit here, staring at their food if it’s going to be awhile.”

“Let me go get your waiter. This isn’t my table.”

“Thank you, I’d appreciate that,” Crowley said as politely as he could muster.

A few minutes later, their waiter returned.

“You didn’t order a meal,” she said, looking Crowley in the eye.

“Excuse me?” Crowley’s eyebrows nearly shot into the stratosphere. “I very _clearly_ ordered the chicken parmesan and a small salad.”

The waiter shook her head. “No, sir, you didn’t.”

Crowley’s jaw dropped. He sat blinking before lifting the bowl of blue cheese dressing. “How do you explain this?”

“That’s blue cheese, sir.”

“Is it _really_?” Crowley asked before he could stop himself. He wasn’t one for being rude to service people, but this was getting ridiculous.

The waiter nodded. “It is, sir.”

“How do you suppose I was able to obtain this, do you think?” Crowley asked.

“You ordered it, sir, and I brought it to you. That's my job, sir.”

“Yes, I ordered it along with my meal, and—”

“No, sir, you didn’t order a meal. I would have remembered that.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “You… I… Uh…” He struggled to figure out how to continue. Realizing it was useless to argue, he approached it from a different tactic. “Could I perhaps order the chicken parmesan and a small salad _now_?”

She sucked a hiss through her teeth. “That’s going to be a problem, sir,” she said. “I can’t bring you anything else out of the kitchen right now.”

“Is my chicken being _detained_?” Crowley asked, looking between Aziraphale and Gabriel’s plates.

“I’ve already closed your table, sir, and I won’t be able to open another tab until you pay your bill or a manager overrides it.”

Crowley sat back in his chair, rendered once again speechless by the young woman in front of him.

Crowley turned his head when a very calculated and quietly ferocious voice was heard.

“I would like to speak with your manager.”

“Excuse me, sir?” The waiter said, turning towards Aziraphale.

“I _said_ ,” Aziraphale spoke through clenched teeth, “That I would like to speak with your manager.”

She shrugged. “I ain’t bovvered,” she said as she turned her head towards the kitchen, nodding at the other waiter who had come to their table.

A few moments later, a gentleman appearing to be Aziraphale’s age approached. “Yes, Lauren, what appears to be the issue here?”

“The ginger didn’t order a meal and the blonde is tetchy about it.”

Gabriel made a face that could only be described as _you-done- **fucked** - **up** _and scooted back from the table, folding his arms across his chest tightly to watch the show.

Crowley, wide-eyed and confused, scooted back next to Gabriel.

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, placing his palms on the table before standing to rise up to his full height. Though it might not have been as impressive as that of his dining companions, it was still of considerable enough difference between himself and the manager that he felt bolstered. “Lauren, is it?” Aziraphale smiled sweetly, his movements subtle and graceful as a swan. “Is this your first time working in a customer-facing setting?”

She shook her head.

“Perhaps this is your first shift as a waiter,” Aziraphale continued.

“No, sir.”

“Bad day?” Aziraphale asked.

She shook her head once more.

“If you don’t need me,” the manager said, attempting to step away, “I’ll just—"

Aziraphale’s hand shot up sharply, his index finger raised towards the manager indicating he should wait. “Forgive my hubris,” he said quietly, his movement and speech calculated with precision. “Perhaps you could explain to me, fool that I am, how it is that you’ve managed not to be sacked. For that matter, given the nature of the conversation I’ve regrettably borne witness to, one might inquire as to how you’ve managed to survive out in public _at all_.”

“I’ll have you know that Ms. Cooper is a perfectly competent employee,” the manager said, though there was very little substance behind the statement.

“ _Perfectly_ ,” Aziraphale repeated with the smug sarcasm of a practiced bastard. “As is evidenced by the fact that somehow, in spite of her claim that he did not place an order, there is currently a bowl of dressing in front of my dining companion, and a closed-out table so that nothing _else_ could be ordered.” Aziraphale’s eyelashes fluttered momentarily.

“Angel,” Crowley began, “It’s _fine_ , really.”

Aziraphale turned to Crowley with a gentle smile. “It _isn’t_.” He turned back to the manager. “Even if she _had_ put his order in, since she closed out the table, we wouldn’t have been able to order pudding or coffee for afters.” Aziraphale looked around the restaurant, taking in all the empty tables. “You’re not lacking for available tables, so I don’t think that keeping up with turnover is the reason. It seems to me that perhaps Ms. Cooper has done one of two things. Either she made a mistake and rather than admitting to that and moving on, she has dug in her heels in such a way that has severely inconvenienced all of us, yourself included, or this is simply the sort of employee she is, essentially stunting the flow of profit by preventing customers from placing orders outside of that first order, complete or not.” Aziraphale glanced up at the manager once more. “That doesn’t sound like a very solid business model, does it?”

Crowley watched in amazement as Aziraphale continued to describe the behavior he had witnessed, detailing every tiny inflection that had been unprofessional, rude, and otherwise antagonistic.

Aziraphale was many things, but right now, he was a righteous blonde warrior, and it was his sworn duty to lay waste to poor service and a glorious lack of chicken.

Once satisfied his point had been made, the three left. Though the manager had offered to provide them with lunch free of charge in apology, Aziraphale didn’t feel confident enough to risk that, given the speech he had just made. He knew the cardinal rules regarding food service complaints. Anything severe enough to require a manager meant there was a highly likely possibility that you did not want to eat whatever was served to you _afterwards_.

“I thought you tried to be nice to everyone," Crowley said in amusement as they walked out the door.

“I do,” Aziraphale countered, “But I also tend to notice things that might not necessarily be polite for one to point out regarding another outside of extreme duress.”

“To their faces,” Gabriel helpfully added with a grin.

“Yes,” Aziraphale sighed heavily. “That is technically true,” he said, looking at Gabriel wearily. “Though one might consider that tidbit as a prime example of the very topic.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Gabriel asked, feigning disinterest.

“It isn’t as if I tend to _enjoy_ explaining this to people,” Aziraphale said. “But sometimes, purely for the satisfaction of making a _difference_ ,” a hint of a grin graced Aziraphale’s cheek, “I suppose I must do.”

"What, what is all this?" Crowley asked, bewildered and amused. One of the first things that drew Crowley's interest in Aziraphale was the way his expression shifted from a warm smile into a prissy smirk when certain people's backs were turned. He later grew to enjoy being privy to Aziraphale's scathing commentary at times, though Crowley had otherwise been unaware of it as anything but an aberration.

Gabriel grinned at Crowley, patting Aziraphale on the back. “I do believe Aziraphale is trying to explain to you the noble art of bitchcraft.”

As late in the afternoon as it was, they ended up in a sandwich shop, electing to pick up something light for tea to tide them over until dinner. They headed back to the shop to await delivery of their items.

In Crowley’s box, amid the collectible trinkets, there was an extra item, tagged with someone else’s ID number.

“There’s a book in there,” Aziraphale exclaimed.

“It’s not mine,” Crowley said. “I didn’t bid on any books.”

“It must belong to that young lady you bumped into when she dropped her card. You really should return it.”

“I’m not about to go around returning lost property. That’s what your lot do,” Crowley said, sliding the book across the counter. “I _charge_ clients for my services.”

“I run a book _shop_ , Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “I _sell books_.”

“And antique writing thingies,” Gabriel added helpfully from across the room.

“ _Barely_ ,” Crowley grinned, teasingly. “But even if you _were_ in the habit of letting people pay you for your precious books and antiquities, I _know_ you. You wouldn’t sell that one. Not if it didn’t belong to you.”

“And just how is that different from you giving the book to me, knowing I’ll simply return it?”

“You’re not a client,” Crowley stated, turning his head to look down at his fingernails casually. _You’re so much more_ , he thought to himself. “I can give you anything I want.”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“ _Yes_ , really,” Crowley said, leaning his elbows down onto the counter, biting his lip in a smirk.

“Oh, _God_ , get a _room_ ,” Gabriel groaned from the box of books he was sorting through.

“This is _my_ building,” Aziraphale said. “ _Every_ room in it is mine.”

Gabriel laughed, shaking his head.

After it had grown dark, the shop closed, Newt gone home, most of the books had been sorted, tagged in the system, and placed where they needed to be, Gabriel stood up to leave.

“I was just about to ask Aziraphale if he wanted to go grab some dinner in a bit. Would you and Bea like to join us?”

“Thanks, no,” Gabriel said. “Bea is trying out a new recipe tonight. I have no idea what it is, but she told me to be prepared to be _dazzled_ , whatever that means.”

“It’s probably something to do with cauliflower that nature never intended,” Aziraphale said.

Gabriel snorted. “Probably so. Anyway, I’m going to head on out. You two have fun at dinner.”

“Right,” Crowley said, following Gabriel out. “We’ll be seeing you,” he said, locking the door behind him.

Gabriel laughed, rolling his eyes as he began to walk around the corner to his place. The fact that Crowley locked the door so casually, as if he had done it so many times, told Gabriel all he needed to know about just how often Crowley stayed over. “They’re so stupid.”

“I’m thinking maybe whatever we pick should be something sort of light,” Crowley said. “Unless you didn’t mind waiting a little longer first, that is. I’m not feeling particularly hungry right now.”

“Now that you mention it, I’m not strongly inclined either way myself,” Aziraphale replied. Not normally one to skip a meal, Aziraphale was still feeling satiated enough from their sandwiches and tea that he didn’t feel quite ready for a full meal just yet. If only there were some way to work up an appetite, he thought to himself with a smirk.

“Anything in mind to kill some time?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale had an idea. There was a storage area in the back of the shop where both Gabriel and Aziraphale kept some of the more expensive items locked away. There were no windows, so no sunlight to fade covers, and only one door. Inside, there were several locking cabinets and an old leather couch with a sheet over the top.

“I do have something, as a matter of fact. Wait here,” Aziraphale said. “I have something I’d like to show you, but I need to fetch something first,” Aziraphale said, headed up the stairs to his flat. After a very short few minutes, he returned to take Crowley by the hand, leading him to the very back of the back room. Aziraphale opened the door, gesturing for Crowley to enter. “After you,” he said, following Crowley inside and closing the door behind them.

Crowley felt blindly along the wall next to the door in the pitch-black room. “I can’t find the light switch,” he said.

“That’s because it’s on the outside of the door,” Aziraphale explained, gently pushing Crowley up against the wall. He had been in and out of this room so many times that he could navigate it blindly, and sometimes did.

“But we can’t see anything like—” Crowley let out a sharp gasp as Aziraphale’s knee parted his legs firmly.

“That’s the point, my dear,” Aziraphale breathed into Crowley’s ear, grinding against him.

“Oh?” Crowley said, swallowing loudly in anticipation.

“Indeed,” Aziraphale said, running his hands down Crowley’s sides to lift his shirt over his head. Slowly, he slid them back down to Crowley’s belt, unbuckling it with an impressive precision purely by the sensation of his fingers upon the buckle. He unfastened Crowley’s trousers, pleased to find the soft stretch of denim much more forgiving than certain other items in Crowley’s wardrobe. “That makes what I’m planning to do much more effective,” he said once every stitch of clothing had been removed from Crowley.

“And what’s that?” Crowley asked, blinking his eyes in the darkness in an attempt to see… _anything_. He let out a cry of surprise at the sensation of being lifted.

“ _Whatever I want_ ,” Aziraphale growled gently, carefully depositing Crowley on the couch in the tiny storage area.

Crowley looked around wildly in the dark when he felt something being placed in his hand. “What’s this?”

“You _know_ what that is,” Aziraphale’s voice said, cutting through the pitch-black room as he moved around. “I’m going to fuck you,” Aziraphale said quietly. “And to do that, I’ll need for you to be prepared. Now, usually I like to do this for you, but this time, I want you to prepare yourself. Can you do that for me, Crowley?”

Crowley could hear what sounded like clothing rustling. “Y-yeah,” he said.

“Good. I want you to focus on your own pleasure, but do so quietly so that you can listen to your own breathing. I want you to feel your body responding to what you’re doing without the distraction of any other sounds but your own breath.”

“O-okay,” Crowley said. “How did you want me to—”

“Shh,” Aziraphale shushed as he moved around in the stygian nothingness. “Do as I’ve asked. All I wish to hear is the sound of your hands and your breathing. Make sure you don’t put that tube down, either. I want you to keep it in your hand until I remove it.”

Crowley nodded uselessly, fumbling with the tube as he opened it. He slicked his fingers and reached down between his legs to begin massaging his entrance.

Unable to see anything, the only sounds he heard were faint susurrations moving around him, Crowley somehow resisted the urge to whimper as the sensations washed over him. He knew, realistically, that this was a very small room and only he and Aziraphale were inside of it. He _knew_ this. His damnable reptile brain, however, sprang into action, blasting out alerts followed by bits of adrenaline to course through his system.

He felt as if he were being hunted, focused in on by some unknown, unseen predator. He felt simultaneously hidden and exposed like this, unable to find his own way, yet knowing fully well that Aziraphale very likely knew every inch of the room, because _of course_ he would. Aziraphale had already proven this much already, hadn’t he? Crowley slipped another finger inside at the thought.

Crowley, realizing his breathing had grown louder, held his breath momentarily in an effort to locate Aziraphale. Biting his lip, he strained to listen, hoping for an idea of where the angel was in the room. After a moment, far longer than he was comfortable, he gasped in a lung bucketful of air, sliding his fingers back and forth, then in and out in a rhythm. It was easier to regulate his breathing again with a way to keep time, is what he’d say if asked. Really, it simply felt good.

Closing his eyes, Crowley leaned his head back, slipping a third finger inside as he began to relax. His breathing had slowed to something more languid, letting out a soft sigh.

Crowley yelled in surprise at the sudden rush of air and pressure on top of him. He could feel Aziraphale’s breath on his lips as that bastard angel silently laughed before leaning down to slot their mouths together. He felt Aziraphale’s hand dragging down his arm to the tube, taking it from Crowley.

“You’ve done so well for me, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. “And now I’m going to reward you for it. We’re going to remain quiet. I want you to focus on what your body is telling you without being distracted by your other senses. You needn’t worry about anything. I will still give you directions as needed. Now,” Aziraphale said, settling himself in between Crowley’s legs, “I do need for you to speak long enough to give me an answer. Do I have your permission to fuck you?”

“Yesss,” Crowley hissed involuntarily. He _very much_ wanted to be fucked, but he hadn’t expected to lose control of his tongue in the process. He felt as if his reactions were becoming more instinctive. It was both strange and invigorating, as if the yoke of responsibility had been lowered and he could simply _exist_.

“Good,” Aziraphale said. “I’m so pleased you’ll allow me to do this for you,” he said, leaning down to kiss along Crowley’s neck. “Now remember, I want you to be quiet. Unless there is a problem, you are to remain silent until you begin to achieve orgasm. At that time, you are allowed to make any sounds that come out. Do not distract yourself from your climax by fretting over displeasing me,” he said, nipping at Crowley’s collarbones. “You _won’t_.”

Aziraphale pushed himself upright, spreading Crowley’s legs open wider before opening the tube. Once he was properly slick, he wiped his hand on the sheet beneath them on the couch. Running his hands along the inside of Crowley’s thighs, he let the natural V of Crowley’s legs guide him home.

Biting his lip, Aziraphale delighted in the way Crowley trembled beneath him as he sank in, slowly, leisurely, without concern for the urgency he could clearly feel radiating off of Crowley. He fully intended to take his time and wring every drop of bliss out of this experience for the both of them.

Ever since the night Crowley had been so drunk he blacked out, Aziraphale had been trying to figure out how to recreate the joy without the alcohol. He didn’t know what it was that was so upsetting to Crowley whenever they did this, but Aziraphale was determined to find a way to give this to him, somehow. Aziraphale had hoped that this little experiment would help Crowley to get out of his own head, for whatever reason, and to focus instead on the pleasure he so clearly enjoyed.

Aziraphale knew why it had been difficult for _himself_ , but that had nothing to do with whatever was happening with Crowley, of that he was certain.

 _Stop,_ Aziraphale thought. _Just focus on this. **Be** here, with him now. Listen to him breathing. Feel his muscles clench around you. Taste the salt on his skin. Occupy that clever tongue and whisper your secrets into the vault of his mouth. Love him in all the ways you know how, because he deserves it, even if he doesn’t feel the same way._

_Love him._

Aziraphale pushed inside slowly.

_Cherish him._

He slid out.

_Worship at the altar of his mouth._

Aziraphale leaned down, bringing their lips together.

_Give your offering._

Aziraphale slipped his tongue into Crowley’s mouth in time with the thrust of his hips.

_Fill him with yourself._

Aziraphale wrapped a hand around one of Crowley’s ankles, lifting it up and pressing forward as he pushed deeper inside.

_Love him enough so that he doesn’t **have** to._

Aziraphale felt Crowley clenching up tightly beneath him, breath erratic as one of Crowley’s hands moved from Aziraphale’s shoulder up to the back of the couch.

Crowley’s back arched. “ _Aziraph_ —"

The door swung open abruptly as the room filled with bright light from overhead.

“Aziraphale! Jesus Christ! Sorry!” Gabriel said, suddenly turning around.

“What’s going on?” Bea said loudly through the phone in Gabriel’s right hand.

“Babe, I gotta go. I, uh, I’ll explain later,” he said, ending the call and putting it in his jacket pocket.

“I see your phone works,” Aziraphale glared from between his fingers where his hands flew up to his eyes at the sudden intrusion of light. “Weren’t you supposed to _call_ before coming by after hours?” Aziraphale snapped, quickly covering both himself and Crowley with a corner of the sheet underneath them. Feeling the way Crowley’s legs were still tensing, Aziraphale hoped he had _everything_ covered.

“I didn’t know you were here!” Gabriel half-shouted, his hands over his eyes. “You two said you were going out to dinner. All the lights were off. I thought—”

“And you would have _known_ had you bothered to _call_ first,” Aziraphale replied tersely.

Crowley, hand still over his own eyes, pulled the rest of the sheet over his head and tried to sink further into the cushions of the couch out of pure embarrassment.

“You… You’re right. I’m sorry,” Gabriel said, lowering his hands from his eyes to hold out apologetically. “It won’t happen again.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, exhaling loudly through his nose. “Fine. You’re already here, so you might as well just take care of it. What is it you needed?”

“We had four orders come in this evening,” Gabriel explained. “I wanted to get it taken care of before we had to head to Edinburgh this weekend, and I thought you weren’t here.”

“Four orders in one evening? For rarities? That’s unusual,” Aziraphale said. That many orders wasn’t unusual for the eBook side, nor was it for Aziraphale’s regular inventory, but they _very_ rarely had to pull from this room for an order more often than once every few weeks.

“I was just as shocked as you were,” Gabriel said before winking, “In every sense of the word.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Well, at least _something_ good is going to come from this interruption,” Aziraphale said.

Gabriel cocked his head to the side with a pout as the initial shock wore off. "That was my _reading_ couch."

"You mean my _sex_ couch,” Aziraphale said with a wicked gleam in his eye.

Gabriel’s lip curled as he stuck his tongue out in a mock gag.

“Oh, grow up,” Aziraphale scoffed with a laugh.

“Could you two _possibly_ have this conversation at another time?” Crowley asked, muffled as he was beneath the sheet he had brought up over his head. _Preferably when I don’t have to lie here in the middle of it with a dick inside of me,_ he thought.

“Oh, _do_ calm down. He’s seen me in far worse situations. And I can’t even _begin_ to tell you how many times I had to go to sleep with music blaring and a pillow over my head back in Uni.”

“That was my _wife_ , thank you,” Gabriel replied. “And what we did was _beautiful_ , poignant, and _artistic_.” He waved his hand back and forth, gesturing towards the couch. “This is just a _mess_ ,” he joked, as only someone close enough to be considered family could.

“The point is,” Aziraphale said with a condescending look towards Gabriel, “That there’s not a lot either of us _hasn’t_ seen in the last 30 something years.”

“That, that…” Crowley sputtered, “That’s not _nearly_ as reassuring as either of you probably think it is.”

“Well, then,” Gabriel said, clapping his hands together. “I’ll just, uh, I’ll just go ahead and get those…” Gabriel’s voice trailed off as he opened the locked cabinets to retrieve the four books he needed. “I’ll just grab these and let you both get back to it,” he said, flashing a toothy grin to Aziraphale. “Are we all still on for tea tomorrow?”

“I am,” Aziraphale answered, “But I’ll need to check with—”

The Crowley-shaped lump under the sheet appeared to nod in agreement.

“Yes, it would appear then that we are,” Aziraphale said, gently patting Crowley’s knee beneath the sheet.

“Light on or off?” Gabriel asked, holding the books in one arm and pulling his phone out of his pocket with the other as he stood in the doorway.

“Just _go_ ,” Crowley said weakly from beneath the sheet. “Tell Bea I said hi.”

“Will do,” Gabriel said, closing the door behind him.

Gabriel walked over to the register to place the books on the counter. Phone in hand, he hit redial.

“What the _fuck_ is going on?” Bea asked with only slightly quiet impatience.

“Have I got a story for _you_ ,” Gabriel said, opening the covers of the books and jotting down a few notes onto a notepad. “I’ll tell you when I get home. But before I do, I called to ask if you had change for a £20. I do believe I owe you £5.”

“I _knew_ it!” Bea said victoriously, having bet on the _horse that came out on top_. “Yes, I have it. Bring me my money.”

Gabriel laughed. “All right. I’ll be home soon. Love you, Honeybee.”

“Love you, too, Bugle Boy.”

After purposefully scheduling the delivery of the aquarium to the bookshop for the weekend Gabe and Aziraphale were in Edinburgh, Crowley gathered a few things from his flat, stopped by a garden shop and a local pet shop, and set out for Aziraphale’s bookshop.

Crowley spent the better part of the morning setting up the tank in the back room. It was close enough to the window that the plants would get some sunlight, but not directly in the path to cause algae in the water or uneven temperature. He had brought many different kits, checking water quality to make certain the ph was right. He put in a few calls to determine what sort of treatments the water had, and took the appropriate measures to account for it. Filling the tank with appropriate substrate and wet sand, he put just enough water in to place the submerged plants inside before setting a trickle to fill while he set about potting the pothos he had brought specifically for this, arranging them around the tank.

The entire time, Crowley was chattering away to Cleo about this, that, and everything else. After reassuring Newt that it was okay to leave him in the shop, and yes, he even had a key, he found himself alone, just him and Cleo.

Crowley was surprised at how much he had to say to that tiny golden fish. It shocked him. He was used to talking to Figgs, but he had never really held any conversations with any of his other fish before. Maybe Cleo really was special.

Crowley returned the next day, having let the tank run for twenty-four hours before he put Cleo in it.

Crowley sat down cross-legged in the floor in front of the tank, picking up their conversation from the day before.

“I’m gonna tell him,” Crowley said, smiling serenely at the fish staring back at him. “When he gets back to London, I’m, I’m gonna tell him how much I love him.”

Crowley let out a satisfied sigh of nervous excitement. “You’re a good listener, Cleo.”

Crowley, constantly checking his phone, was driving Didi mad.

“Just _go_ ,” she said, shooing him out of the office. “Go wait for him at _his_ office. I’ll get more work done without you in here mucking about.”

“I’m not—”

“You _are_ ,” she said. “You’ve not stopped talking about that bloody aquarium all day. I know you can’t wait to show it off. Just _go.”_

Crowley grinned. “Yeah, I didn’t realize I was going to be this excited over a goldfish.”

Didi arched an eyebrow. “And yet, here we are.”

Crowley, feeling very much like a young child in his Sunday best surrounded by lovely mud puddles, went to the bookshop to wait for Aziraphale. His head jerked up every time the bells chimed on the door. It wasn’t until late in the evening, just before closing, that Aziraphale returned.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said, pleasant surprise evident on his face. “I didn’t expect to see you waiting here. Did we have plans? I’m so dreadfully sorry if I’ve kept you waiting long.”

“No, no,” Crowley reassured him. “I just, I had a surprise for you, and thought maybe we could talk about some things."

“A surprise?” Aziraphale said as they headed into the back room. “Well, let me just put my bags away and—”

The words died in his throat as he dropped his bags, spotting the aquarium. “Oh, _Crowley_ ,” he said breathlessly. “It’s _beautiful_.”

“Do you like it?” Crowley preened.

“Oh, my dear, I do. I really, properly do.” Aziraphale turned to look at him. “Are those _angels_? This must have cost a fortune,” he said. “I actually heard a few of these went for several thousand pounds in auction recently.”

“Did you?” Crowley said nervously. “I, uh, I’ve… Well, you know I used to keep fish,” he said, which was true. “And this is so old,” he _also_ said, which was _also_ true. These two perfectly true statements were completely fine to say. There was no need to say anything more, really.

“Oh, those plants are gorgeous. Where did you get them?”

“Eh, it, uh, it’s a pothos,” Crowley shrugged, as if that meant anything to Aziraphale. Upon seeing the look of confusion on the angel’s face, Crowley continued. “I, uh, they came from my own. It’s prolific as anything. Turn around to pour a cup of tea and it’s already sent out two more runners, one on land, one on water. Which reminds me, you’ll want to keep an eye out for any leaves falling in the water unless you want them sprouting water roots. Cleo would likely nibble a bit, but if enough fell in at once, it wouldn’t matter,” Crowley babbled, suddenly feeling a need to fill every silence with every word except the three he had been building towards saying all weekend. “I’ll be checking on it whenever I’m here, of course, but it’s something for you to keep in mind regardless.”

Aziraphale could barely take his eyes off of the tank.

Crowley smiled. He was so _happy_ right now, everything was wonderful. “Did you have a nice time in Edinburgh?”

“I did,” Aziraphale said, somehow tearing his gaze away to look back at Crowley. “Though admittedly, it would have been nicer if you could have come along, too. But I suppose this aquarium will make up for that.”

Crowley sighed heavily. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you the reason I don’t go to Edinburgh. At least some of it. It’s, I really _do_ want to be honest with you, right, but it's sort of a long story and I’d rather not go into it all right now.” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hands in his own. “I want this to be a _happy_ day, all right?”

“All right,” Aziraphale said, glancing down at their joined hands. Whatever it was Crowley wanted to tell him, it was obviously a big deal to him.

“I, uh, might as well just get it out. I was born in Edinburgh. Sort of raised there. Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but I lived there until my early twenties. Suffice it to say for now, I did what I could to make the best of a bad situation, and got out when I could, but there are possibly still people there who would like nothing more than to see me suffer. That’s why I came to London. I uh, I changed my name just enough to muck up a few records and learned to speak like this.”

“Oh, _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale said.

Though that wasn’t the whole story, not at all, Crowley felt so much lighter having admitted to it.

“There’s more... Uh, more that I need to tell you, though,” Crowley said, trying to gather the courage to say what he had intended to say. “I, um…”

 _I love you,_ Crowley thought. _Why is it so easy to think it, to feel it, to **know** it, for it to slip out, but so difficult to **say** when I'm **trying to?**_

Crowley took a deep breath. “Now, I don’t want you to take it personally, _at all,_ that I didn’t talk to you about this before. But I _do_ want you to take completely personally that I’ve been able to be comfortable enough, that I’ve trusted you enough, to be able to _let go_ enough that it’s slipped out here and there. That’s… That doesn’t… That’s not something that…” Crowley noised, waving his hands uselessly as he searched for words. “Walls! You know? The, the walls come crashing down!” Crowley flustered, hands now moving in an aggressively frustrated manner.

Aziraphale reached out to gently take Crowley by the slender wrists, rubbing thumbs in soothing circles into his inner arms. “Relax,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley took a deep breath in an attempt to ground himself. “That’s not something that happens for me,” Crowley said, looking up at Aziraphale briefly before looking at the floor. “You just, you get through my walls, and I can’t hide from you.” _And I don’t want to_ , Crowley thought. He sat there, staring at Aziraphale, trying to force his voice to compete with the thundering of his heart to make another sound.

Aziraphale swallowed thickly, scared to hope. “So,” he began nervously, “You’re from _Edinburgh_ ,” he said, stressing the word as if he could change it to something else by sheer dint of will alone.

“Uh, y-yeah,” Crowley stammered.

 _Oh_ , Aziraphale thought. _That’s the secret you’ve been keeping, then. You aren’t secretly in love with me, too. You’re secretly **Scottish**. _“Well, then,” Aziraphale began, clearing his throat. “I should like to thank you for sharing this secret with me. I must admit, this isn’t what I thought you wanted to say when you began, but It is quite humbling to be trusted with something so important to you.”

 _This is good, though, isn’t it?_ Aziraphale thought. _It’s good to be someone he can trust. Being his friend is a **good** thing. It’s… It’s more than enough, isn’t it?_

In an attempt to mask his own disappointment, Aziraphale smiled warmly and supportively. “That was incredibly brave of you. I want you to know that I value our friendship _very_ much. I would never look down on you, or do anything to jeopardize that.”

Crowley took in Aziraphale’s words and actions, weighing them carefully within himself. _You weren’t expecting me to tell you that story, yet you were clearly expecting me to admit to **something**. Maybe you’re starting to realize I’m in love with you, or at least suspect it. But if you knew I loved you, and you loved me back, you’d say so, wouldn’t you? So this…_

Crowley’s eyes fell upon Aziraphale’s face once more. Was that a flash of disappointment darkening Aziraphale’s face? Or was it pity? Crowley couldn’t be certain, but if the way his own fool heart sank in his chest was any indication, it probably wasn’t good.

_You thought I was going to muck this all up by telling l you I loved you, didn’t you? You **have** to know by now that I do. _

_You **do**. You **know** , _Crowley thought _, and you’re trying to spare me my dignity by ignoring it, you blessed bastard. You may not love me the way I love you, but I know you care about me, at least as much as you do for Gabe and Bea. It’s…_

_It’s mercy._

Crowley smiled a crooked smile back at Aziraphale, swallowing his own sorrow to substitute with sincerity. “Your friendship means the world to me, too,” Crowley said.

_This can be enough, can’t it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When making one of the art pieces for this chapter, I accidentally painted 6 toes instead of 5 on Crowley's foot. I realized this when I was painting the base layer of polish on the toenails and there were 6 color blobs.  
> Caedmon triple-dog-dared me to include this in the story.  
> So I did.
> 
> (If you weren't certain, this was the waiter.)  
>   
> And if you're wondering how I could come up with something so ridiculous, it is because this actually _happened_ to me at a Denny's in the early 2000s. I was served a bowl of blue cheese dressing and told I did not place an order.


	10. Hieronymus Bosc's Garden of Pearthly Delights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale likes pears, and HR has been called.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Thank you, Noodlefrog, for the assist with this title.)
> 
> CW: Mild homophobia, but only very briefly.
> 
> Also, things are happening with fruit.

“Oh, good Lord,” Aziraphale scoffed. “He’s _back_.”

“What’s that?” Gabriel said, popping his head out from the back room.

“Your _friend_.”

Gabriel looked up to see a short, but stout, man in a camelhair suit walking into the bookshop.

“I don’t know him,” Gabriel whispered after stepping in next to Aziraphale.

“He seems to know _you_ ,” Aziraphale whispered back.

At the sight of Gabriel, the man flashed a gold-flecked grin.

“Oooh, okay,” Gabriel said, starting to recognize the man. “Well, we’ve spoken here in the past, but I don’t _know_ know him, you know?”

Both Aziraphale and Gabriel waved with their best painted on customer service smiles.

“I assumed it was something like that,” Aziraphale whispered through the clenched teeth of his phony smile. “Can I help you?” Aziraphale asked politely as the man approached the counter.

“Gabriel,” the man greeted as he reached the counter. “So nice to have caught you in for once. You certainly do keep busy,” he said with a broad, yet unsettling smile.

Aziraphale’s eye twitched every so slightly. “Is there someth—”

“Gabriel, I thought you might be able to help me with a particular type of rare book,” the man interrupted, essentially ignoring Aziraphale completely.

Gabriel, noticing the tension and irritation coming off of Aziraphale in almost palpable waves, responded. “I really mostly deal in digital content,” Gabriel said. “Aziraphale is the expert on the material objects.”

“Books,” the man corrected.

“Books,” Gabriel repeated. He realized this man wasn’t going to allow anyone else to help him. “All right, then. Let’s discuss your purchase. You’re specifically here for…?” Gabriel attempted to ask.

“Pornography.”

“Pornography?” Gabriel’s head went back slightly as his eyebrows jumped up.

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale began. “I suppose there’s nothing further for me to do here,” he said with a smirk.

“No, I suppose there isn’t,” the man said as he looked to finally acknowledge Aziraphale existed. “You wouldn’t know anything about what I’m looking for. You can go now,” he said, waving his wrist limply with a huff of a haughty laugh before turning back to Gabriel. “I’d much rather deal with a like-minded individual such as yourself, if you know what I mean.” The man nudged an elbow towards Gabriel. “How do you ever get anything done with a southern pansy such as this working for you?”

Gabriel quickly realized what was happening. He stepped around the counter, clapping a firm hand on the man’s shoulder. “Yes, well, being cishet is _fine_ if that's what a person _is_ , but I don't want them rubbing my nose in it,” Gabriel said with a wink as he guided the man to the door.

“Yes, definet—” The man stopped mid-word, furrowing his brows in confusion as he processed Gabriel’s wording. He stood blocking the doorway. “What did you just say?”

“Have a _great_ day,” Gabriel smiled broadly, backing the man through the door and locking it behind him. He turned around, rolling his eyes. “Aziraphale, as your fake boss, I am _ordering_ you to close up shop and come have a drink.”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Aziraphale said, grabbing his coat.

The two slipped out through the back and walked to the nearest pub.

“I’m sorry that happened to you again,” Gabriel said as they sat down.

“And I’m sorry that happened to _you_ again, too,” Aziraphale replied solemnly. “People look at _me_ and they just, they _know_. But they look at _you_ and they _assume_ —“

“Eh,” Gabriel interrupted. “It, yeah, it’s…” He sighed, puffing out his cheeks. “Well, at least it works out in my favor, sometimes, right? Borrowed privilege, and all that. I probably shouldn’t complain.” Gabriel shrugged with a frustrated quirk of his lip as he twisted the rose gold wedding band with the tiny vertical pink, yellow, and blue sapphire baguettes in a single row around his finger. “Besides, I know who I am. That’s really what matters, right?”

Aziraphale nodded. He knew it mattered to know oneself, but he _also_ knew it wasn’t the _only_ thing that mattered. Being seen for who one was, and to be recognized and accepted, that was important, too.

Aziraphale and Crowley stepped out of the lift carrying the shopping. Crowley planned to try something new he had learned earlier that afternoon in the class he had been taking, and they had just done a shop for the ingredients. As they approached the door to his flat, they saw a large gift hamper in front of his door.

“What’s this?” Aziraphale asked, taking bags from Crowley’s hands so he could tend to the door and the hamper.

“No idea,” Crowley said, unlocking the door. He picked up the hamper, having to make two attempts, and they went inside.

While Aziraphale placed the bags on the kitchen table to sort through, Crowley struggled to get the hamper up on the worktop next to the sink. He flipped the card over to read it. “Oh, this is a thank you from one of my clients,” Crowley explained, slightly out of breath as he held up the card.

“That was kind of them.”

“Yes, but it presents a new set of problems,” Crowley said. “There’s no way I’m going to go through all of this before it spoils,” he said, rummaging through the assorted bread, fruit, and cheese. “There is an actual _entire_ pineapple here. What am I supposed to do with this?” He held it up.

“Sketch a still life?” Aziraphale offered helpfully.

Crowley cocked his head to the side with a smirk, placing the pineapple back in the hamper.

“What would you like for me to do to help you right now?” Aziraphale asked, reaching for one of the bags they brought in.

“Would you be terribly upset if we nibbled on this instead tonight? I can put the shopping away and I can cook it for you this weekend. It’ll keep.”

“I have no problem with that,” Aziraphale said, plucking a grape from a cluster at the top of the hamper.

“Great. And whatever we don’t finish tonight, we’ll divvy up between us and you take some with you, yeah?”

“If you like.”

“You go on and carry that thing into the living room. I’ll put this away and be along shortly,” Crowley said, already pulling items out of the bags. He placed a net bag full of oysters over on the worktop as Aziraphale hefted up the hamper and left the kitchen.

Figgs stood up on his back legs, pawing at Crowley. 

"No, babydoll," Crowley said sweetly. "These are alive, and if you try to eat one, they'll eat you back."

A few minutes later, Crowley sauntered into the living room with a pair of coupe glasses and a tea towel in one hand, and two small plates with flatware in the other. There was a bottle tucked underneath his arm.

“I could have helped you with all of that,” Aziraphale chastised, his brows furrowed.

“You _did_ ,” Crowley reassured him. “That bloody hamper is weighed down with lead. I thought I was going to herniate myself before we even left the foyer, and—”

“That’s so pretentious,” Aziraphale laughed. “Don’t you mean hall?”

“I know how much I paid for this flat, Aziraphale. I have a _foyer_ ,” Crowley said, sticking his tongue out. “Anyway, I didn’t want to carry that heavy thing in here. You can carry _me_ like it’s nothing, so I pushed it off on you,” Crowley said with a grin. “Now shove over a bit so I can sit down.”

Aziraphale laughed as he scooted over. He pulled the bottle from beneath Crowley’s arm out first, placing it on the coffee table, then took the glasses and the tea towel to free up Crowley’s hand.

“Asti Spumante? This isn’t what we picked up today,” Aziraphale said.

“No, what we got today is meant for your oysters on Friday,” Crowley explained, placing the plates on the coffee table and picking up the bottle and tea towel. “That’s a green wine. Fizzy for me, whatever it does for oysters for you," he said, unwrapping the wire cage from the top of the bottle.

“Hmm,” Aziraphale smiled. It was so endearing, he thought, how attentive Crowley was to these things. _He really **does** enjoy pleasing me_, Aziraphale thought, _even if it’s purely for the dynamic of our sexual relationship._

“I thought the Spumante would go well with the fruit,” Crowley said as he expertly wrapped the middle of the tea towel loosely around the neck of the bottle, securely holding all four corners, before slowly pushing the cap up with his thumbs. “I’ve always got a bottle or two chilled and ready." He didn't need to mention he had taken to stocking the sweeter Italian wine in addition to his preferred Prosecco once Aziraphale started coming over more. "You know how I like the bubbles,” Crowley scrunched up his nose, flinching only a little bit at the loud pop as the cap shot out, caught by the towel.

They leisurely nibbled, feeding each other bits of fruits and cheese between sips, when Aziraphale noticed something at the bottom of the hamper. “This is filled with tins,” he said.

“What?” Crowley sat up, leaning across Aziraphale’s lap to look. The entire bottom half of the hamper was filled with tins of assorted seafood. “No wonder it was so heavy,” Crowley remarked. “Got some oysters for you, though,” he said, picking out a small tin of smoked oysters and handing it to Aziraphale.

“Perhaps later,” Aziraphale said, reaching for the pineapple they had already cut into. “Did you know that a pineapple is actually a type of berry?” He took the knife and scored along the spiral seams of the greener parts of the pineapple skin.

“Oh?” Crowley said, mildly surprised as he leaned back against the arm of the couch again. “I did not… Uh…” Crowley swallowed harshly. “I didn’t know that,” he finished, distracted by the way strong hands and fingers pushed deep into the side of the pineapple, plucking a tapered section of fruit out.

“Yes. They grow in clusters that fuse together, like berries,” Aziraphale said casually, just before he leaned his head back to place the pineapple in his mouth up to his fingertips. A drop of juice had collected at the tip, catching the lamplight, before Aziraphale’s lips closed around it. He made a delicate slurping sound, much to the dismay of Crowley’s tightening trousers.

“Clusters, you say?” Crowley said, his voice raising in pitch as he watched Aziraphale drop the bitten off husk on the plate to lick his fingertips.

Aziraphale’s smirk was barely noticeable, but it was there nonetheless. He knew what he was doing. “Yes,” he said, digging his thumb back in to pluck another section out. “This,” he said, holding up the segment, quickly popping it in and out of his mouth to suck the juice off before it dripped, “Is a single fruit that grew alongside others in a cluster.” He placed it back in his mouth, closing his teeth down around it to bite the fruit from the skin.

“So that’s the, the stem, then?” Crowley said, his brain competing with his nethers for dominance in blood supply.

“This?” Aziraphale pinched the bit of fiber sticking out of the edge of the next section. “This part is called the _brat_ , like you.”

Crowley feigned incredulity with a gasp. “I’m not a brat!”

“Of course you aren’t,” Aziraphale laughed while plucking another segment out. “Be a dear and part your lips for me so I can slip this inside.”

Crowley opened his mouth, letting Aziraphale slide the tip across his tongue.

“Now bite,” Aziraphale instructed. “How is it?”

“Mmm,” Crowley hummed as he chewed. He watched Aziraphale’s fingers breach the skin of the pineapple in a deep yellow section, juice dripping onto the plate beneath.

Aziraphale leaned in closer to Crowley, holding the segment out. “Open your mouth.”

Crowley parted his lips again, waiting patiently. Aziraphale traced the tip of the pineapple segment along Crowley’s lips, teasing them, until juice dribbled down. He painted feather-light brush strokes down the side of Crowley’s neck to his clavicle, then back up to his chin. Aziraphale slipped the pineapple back into Crowley’s mouth. “Bite,” he instructed again.

Aziraphale tossed the bitten off piece onto the plate. He brought his lips to Crowley’s collarbone, lapping his tongue along Crowley’s chin and throat.

Crowley closed his eyes and tilted his head back, chewing happily. “Feels good,” he said with a quiet rumble in his throat.

“You _taste_ good,” Aziraphale growled with a laugh as he worked his way up. Upon reaching Crowley’s lips, Aziraphale prodded gently with his tongue until it met with Crowley’s. Positioning himself closer, he took Crowley’s face in his hands, kissing him in earnest. After a bit, he leaned back, smiling as he admired his own handiwork in Crowley’s flushed face. “Oh, I’ve been thinking of this ever since my wine spilled from your mouth.”

“You remember that?”

“Obviously." Aziraphale's brows furrowed slightly. "I wanted you then just as I want you now.”

“Well, then,” Crowley said, attempting to sit up to bring himself closer. “Now that you’ve got me where you want me, whatever shall you _do_ with me?”

Aziraphale leaned back to look inside of the hamper once more. He spotted something in particular that gave him an idea. An intrigued smile passed across his face. “Do you still have that box of votive candles and holders that came in that lot with the sconces you got for your client last month?”

“Yeah, they’re in a cupboard in the kitchen,” Crowley answered. “Sometimes I use them when I have a soak. Feels nice and indulgent,” Crowley grinned. “Very _extra_.”

“Jolly good,” Aziraphale said, returning Crowley’s grin as he stood up. “Go into the kitchen and fetch them. I want you to light several and place them along the worktop.”

“How did you want them spaced?”

“Doesn’t matter, strictly speaking. But it would be a good idea to check for possible fire hazards, potentially. Just group them together on either side of the sink, I suppose.”

“I can do that,” Crowley nodded, dutifully going into the kitchen. Aziraphale grabbed the handle of the hamper and followed him in.

Once Crowley had lit the last of the candles, Aziraphale turned off the overhead light. “Take off your clothes,” Aziraphale said, pulling a tall stool over to the table. He sat down, crossing one leg over the other.

“Where should I—”

“Shh,” Aziraphale said. “Other than your safe word, you are _not_ to speak unless I give you explicit permission by _telling_ you that you may speak. But to answer your question, fold them up and put them in that chair,” he said, indicating the chair on the opposite side of the table. “Go on, then. You may take your time, if you like, but do _at least_ get started.”

Crowley carefully shrugged his jacket off, hanging it on the back of the chair. He looked to Aziraphale for approval, receiving a small nod. Crowley reached to begin untying his tie.

“Leave the tie on.”

Crowley’s hands shook with building excitement as he loosened the tie and lifted it from his collar. Carefully, he began to unbutton his shirt, taking it off to fold and place in the seat of the chair. He continued, piece by piece, until all that was left to remove were his trousers, belt, and underpants. As his hands reached for the belt buckle, Aziraphale spoke.

“Turn around and take those down slowly,” Aziraphale said, beginning to roll up his sleeves.

Crowley became quickly distracted, entranced by the promise of a glimpse of strong forearms flexing and twisting against the cuff of fabric that currently hid them from view.

“I do believe I told you to turn around and take your trousers down, did I not? Aziraphale asked. “I do not wish to repeat myself again.”

Crowley quietly gasped, turning around quickly. He had absolutely _no_ desire to disappoint Aziraphale. He ripped his belt free from the loops, flinging it across the room as if it were an actual snake and not just a studded approximation. He glanced over his shoulder as he tucked his thumbs into either side of his trousers, sliding them past his hips, thighs, and knees as he bent forward all the way down until the only thing stopping him from leaning further was the cool surface of the table beneath his upper body.

“ _Very_ good,” Aziraphale said. “Now, once you finish removing everything, get on the table and lie down on your back.”

Crowley stepped his feet out of the clothing he had just pulled down and climbed up onto the long, rectangular table, just as he was told.

“Very good. You’re always _so good_ for me. Now, I want you to take your hands and grip the edge of the table for me. Once your hands are in place, you are not to move them unless I specifically instruct you to do so.”

Crowley shifted around a bit before finding a comfortable place for his hands. He wrapped his long, slender fingers along the edges and awaited further instructions.

“ _Very good_ ,” Aziraphale’s voice purred out in a rumble, echoing slightly within the quiet acoustics of the kitchen tiles. “You’re doing _so well_ for me. Now, you may tilt your head as needed, but you are not to move, not even one centimeter, from the neck down. Please nod if you understand.”

Crowley nodded his affirmation.

Aziraphale’s face had a look of kindness and concern. “Do you _understand_ that I will not allow you to come to harm, Crowley? Do you _trust_ me that I will take good care of you? Do you _believe_ that I will do exactly as I say, that what I tell you is true?”

Crowley nodded his response.

Aziraphale leaned in close to whisper against Crowley’s ear. “In the event of an emergency, you will choose one of two options. Option one, you may use your safe word and there will be no repercussions, none whatsoever. Your safe word will tell me that you are of rational mind and I needn’t worry that you’re too far in sub-space to keep yourself safe.” Aziraphale stroked the back of his knuckles slowly down Crowley’s cheek. “Option two, if you are feeling too overwhelmed to react, you may choose to allow me to take over for you. In this event, I will do whatever I can to keep you safe. If you hear sirens, if you smell smoke, if you see people running, you are to remain where you are and to not panic. You are to look to me and await your instructions. Are we clear?”

Crowley swallowed audibly, but nodded.

“Turn your head to look at me, Crowley.”

Crowley hesitated, though not out of concern. It was somehow exhilarating to give up so much control. Slowly, so as not to overplay his hand by being too eager, he turned his head.

“Explain to me, in your own words, what is expected of you.”

Crowley’s eyes went wide, darting back and forth across Aziraphale’s face. He hadn’t been given permission to speak. Had it started yet? Was this a test? Was he supposed to answer? He relaxed when Aziraphale’s lips formed a smile.

“Very good. You may speak now. Please answer the question.”

“Uh, you, um…” Crowley looked around, searching for the words to explain without simply parroting back what Aziraphale had told him. That’s what Aziraphale wanted, wasn’t it? To know that Crowley hadn’t simply _heard_ , but _understood_.

“You, you said that if something happens while we’re doing this and it’s too much for me to handle, if I’m too far in my own head, you-you’ll do what needs to be done… To, er, to keep me safe.” Crowley looked directly into Aziraphale’s eyes, marveling at how they glistened in the warm candlelight of his usually austere and harshly lit kitchen. “So it’s okay for me to relax and let go of everything, because you’re here and you’ll protect me.”

“Oh, _Crowley_ , you’ve pleased me so much. Yes, that is _exactly_ it.” Beaming, Aziraphale stood up. “Now, before you need to be quiet again, are you quite comfortable? Would you like a towel for underneath your neck and head?”

“Yes, please,” Crowley replied. He watched with fascination as Aziraphale opened the drawer where he kept the tea towels, rolling one up and folding another lengthwise.

“Lift your head, please,” Aziraphale said, scooping Crowley’s hair out of the way with one arm while sliding the bundled towels under his head with the other. He fanned Crowley’s hair out around his head on the table before stepping in front of the hamper.

Aziraphale pulled a tall stool over next to the table, removing a Comice pear from the hamper. He closed his eyes, inhaling the fragrance deeply. “I like pears,” he said, opening his eyes to look down at Crowley, who remained obediently still upon the table. Aziraphale lowered the pear, brushing the blushed side of the pear lightly against Crowley’s lips before lifting it back up quickly.

“Oh, that’s right,” Aziraphale said with a wicked grin. He brought the pear to his own mouth, pressing a kiss against the skin where Crowley’s lips had touched it. “You don’t _like_ pears, do you?”

Crowley’s eyes widened as he silently watched Aziraphale take a bite, juice running down his chin and arm. Aziraphale wiped a drop of juice off of his chin with his thumb, sliding it into and back out of his mouth. The tiniest of noises escaped Crowley’s throat as he watched Aziraphale’s pink tongue flick out to lick along the inside of his own forearm.

“Is there something you wanted, my dear? You may speak, but only one word. Make it count.”

Crowley scrambled to think, delighted at how nerve-wracking it felt to be so uncertain of what to do yet so certain he was safe regardless of his answer.

“Please.”

Aziraphale smiled warmly, apparently satisfied with the word Crowley had selected. “Have you changed your mind, then?” Aziraphale asked, holding out the bitten pear. “Would you like a taste?”

Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale lifted his arm up to hold the pear above Crowley’s open mouth. “You are to remain still from the neck down. Keep your hands where they are. You are not to speak. However, you may use that clever tongue of yours in other ways. Are you ready? Don’t waste a single drop.”

Crowley watched as Aziraphale’s grip on the pear tightened, his fingertips digging in, bruising and piercing the flesh. Crowley parted his lips wider to extended his tongue as far as he could, lifting his head to try to catch the drops of juice as they fell.

His as yet untouched erection was beginning to grow painful. _What is wrong with me? Why is this making me so goddamned hard?_

“Aww,” Aziraphale tutted. “You put in a _valiant_ effort, my dear, yet you’re still a bit messy.” Aziraphale leaned down to lick up the drops on Crowley’s neck and face, sliding his tongue across Crowley’s lips, but pulling back when he parted them.

Crowley fought the pout pushing against his bottom lip.

“Now, you _do_ know that you can use your safe word at any time, and you won’t disappoint me, don’t you?” Aziraphale asked, gently running his fingers from Crowley’s shoulder down his chest.

Crowley nodded.

“I won’t be upset. The _only_ thing that would disappoint me would be if you _needed_ it and did _not_ use it. Do you understand? You may speak.”

“Yes.”

“I’m here to provide care for you, you see,” Aziraphale continued, stroking feather-light touches up and down Crowley’s skin. “And as you _know_ , I devote quite a bit of time and consideration to the things that are important to me.” Aziraphale watched Crowley’s reaction with interest as he gently traced fingertips along his inner thigh. “So, once again, I will remind you that at any time, if you become uncomfortable, you may use your safe word and we will do something else, virtually anything you like that we both agree to.”

Crowley nodded mutely, struggling, but succeeding, not to move while watching Aziraphale lightly tickle and tease his skin.

“You now have permission to speak until I instruct you otherwise. If you would like to continue, I will require your verbal consent. Use your words, please, Crowley. Do you want this?”

Crowley took a few deep breaths, closing his eyes and leaning his head back to speak. His voice was all but a harsh whisper in a storm. “Yes, please. I want this. Please.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale grinned with delight. “Excellent.” He reached over, carefully positioning his finger and thumb around the head of Crowley’s cock to get a basic measurement.

Crowley gasped at the sensation. _Oh, God, oh, fuck, I’m not gonna last much longer and he only **just** touched me. What the actual—_

“Shh, it’s quiet time again,” Aziraphale said, standing up from the stool and patting Crowley on the thigh. “But do remember, you can stop this at any time.”

_I don’t want to stop it,_ Crowley thought, leaning his head back while breathing a harsh breath out through his nose _. You make me feel alive. You can do anything you want to me. I love you. I fucking **love** you. I have for so long. _Crowley squeezed his eyes tightly shut. _Stop thinking about him like that. Don’t fuck this up for yourself, Crowley_. He bit his lip to remain quiet as he mentally berated himself. _Tie that feeling back down, lock it in a cage, and enjoy what you’ve **actually** got, because that’s **all** you get, and you’re **lucky** to have that._

“Did you know,” Aziraphale said, back turned to Crowley as he leaned over the sink while holding the pear where Crowley couldn’t see, “That Shakespeare used a great many words to refer to genitalia? I personally find that fascinating.”

Crowley watched with wonder as Aziraphale’s shoulders moved, the only indication Crowley had to whatever was happening in the sink.

“One of my favorites, of course, has always been _pear_ ,” Aziraphale said, turning around with a widely cored pear in one hand and a small juice glass in the other.

Crowley eyed the items warily.

“Aren’t you just the picture of obedient loveliness,” Aziraphale praised as he returned to the table. “You’ve done so _well_.” Aziraphale looked down over Crowley, smiling softly as his gaze traveled from head to toe. He looked back to meet Crowley’s eyes. “May I?”

Crowley nodded, unsure of what was happening, but still eager to continue.

“Lift your hips a bit, please, and press your legs together for me.” Aziraphale said, not looking away from where he was carefully positioning the glass. It was important to place it in such a way that it wasn’t low enough to break, but not high enough to slip out from between Crowley’s thighs.

Crowley’s gasp at the sensation of cold, smooth glass between his legs was all but imperceptible. _What the fuck is this?_ His mind raced. He lifted his head up, keeping his hands on the edges of the table as he craned his neck to try to see what Aziraphale was doing between his legs.

Aziraphale’s hand smacked lightly enough not to hurt, but firmly enough to echo against the side of Crowley’s thigh. “Be _still_ ,” he commanded.

Crowley’s head went back immediately.

After positioning the glass, Aziraphale leaned over to look into Crowley’s eyes. Silently, he untied the silver knotted tie around Crowley’s neck. Slowly, he pulled one end towards Crowley’s feet, allowing it to drag gently out from underneath Crowley’s neck as it slid down his chest. Crowley suppressed a shiver as Aziraphale pulled it the rest of the way free from his body, tickling him with the fringe at the end.

Crowley watched in fond fascination as Aziraphale reached back to pull his own hair into a ponytail, securing it with Crowley’s tie.

Aziraphale smiled warmly at him, dragging the stool over closer to Crowley’s hips. “Now, this next part will be difficult, but I feel _very_ confident that you can do this,” Aziraphale said with a hint of pride as he ran a single fingertip up the length of Crowley’s erection. “I intend to touch you in a way that is somewhat different from anything we’ve done previously. You will need to keep your body still, but especially your hips and legs. I’ve deliberately placed a glass between your legs in such a way that it will not harm you, but I don’t want it falling out, either. Can you do this for me, Crowley? Can you remain still?”

Crowley nodded vigorously.

Aziraphale’s nose scrunched up in delight. “Jolly good, my dear. That’s exactly what I hoped you would say.”

Crowley watched with excited confusion as Aziraphale lifted the cored pear. His eyes widened with a sharp intake of breath through his nose, throwing his head back against the folded-up towel beneath his head when Aziraphale pushed the hollowed pear down over the tip of his cock. He let out a quiet whimper at the sensation as he struggled not to move. It wasn’t bad, not at all. Quite the opposite, really. It felt strangely _good_. He lifted his head back up to watch as Aziraphale’s strong hands firmly twisted the pear as he pulled it up and pushed it back down along Crowley’s cock.

“Lie back and relax, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “This might take a few minutes.”

_This? What the fuck **is** this, Angel? _Crowley thought, barely able to focus on them with his concentration being diverted between holding still, remaining quiet, and _whatever the fuck_ was happening on his prick that made him want to buck his hips and yell.

Noticing the way Crowley’s jaw clenched, along with the harsh, ragged breathing coming from Crowley’s nose, Aziraphale asked, “Tap check.”

Crowley lifted his head to look at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale smiled happily. “Still with me, my dear?”

Crowley tapped the index finger closest to Aziraphale on the table twice.

“Hmm,” Aziraphale hummed happily. “Wonderful. How are you doing? Are you still all right?”

Two taps.

“Do you need to stop or take a break?”

One tap.

“Would you like to continue?”

Two strong taps.

Aziraphale squeezed his hand around the pear firmly as he slid it back down, pulling a strangled gasp from Crowley. “Excellent,” Aziraphale said, picking up speed as he began to use both hands to move the pear up and down.

Crowley’s entire body ached from holding still during all of this. His muscles burned as they clenched. His fingernails pressed uselessly against the edge of the table. It was excruciating, and he loved every second of it.

Being intimately familiar with Crowley’s body, Aziraphale noticed the way his muscles tensed. Glancing down at the glass, he saw it was almost half full of juice. _That will do nicely,_ he thought. Aziraphale looked to see that Crowley was watching him carefully. Aziraphale smiled, slowly pulling what was left of the pear off of Crowley’s erection with a wicked grin. He stood up and took the glass of freshly squeezed pear juice to place next to the sink.

Aziraphale turned around, locking eyes with Crowley. With a smirk, Aziraphale took a bite from the pear. Silently as he chewed, Aziraphale extended his hand, offering the bitten side of the pear. Crowley lifted his head to gently take a bite. Aziraphale smiled, setting the pear down in the sink and rinsed off his hands. After drying them on a towel, he tightened the tie in his hair and stepped back over next to Crowley’s hips, moving the stool out of the way.

Crowley finished chewing the bit of pear, swallowing just as Aziraphale leaned over to take Crowley’s cock into his mouth. Crowley resisted the urge to close his eyes and lean his head back. Instead, he was eager to watch as Aziraphale moved up and down, hollowing out his cheeks and casting side glances towards him. Crowley couldn’t tell if it was the strange angle, what with Aziraphale’s mouth essentially feeling like it was sideways, or the fact that it was his own tie that was holding Aziraphale’s hair back, but he felt ready to burst.

Aziraphale, noticing Crowley’s harsh breathing once again, pulled his head back with a loud, wet-sounding _pop_. “I want you to count in your head. Once you reach 42, you are allowed to move and speak as much and as loudly as you like,” Aziraphale said, immediately taking Crowley’s cock back into his mouth to continue sucking him off.

Crowley dutifully counted in his head as best he could. He got distracted by the sounds Aziraphale was making and missed a few numbers, forcing himself to start over again. By the time he got to 42, it was as if every muscle in his body had been set free to snap, pop, and sparkle with electric energy.

“ _Fucking_ _Aziraph_ - _pha_ \- _fu-fuck_ - _fuck_ , Angel, _fuck_!” Crowley stuttered out, along with his hips as his fists clenched and his abdominal muscles contracted at the same time his knees came up.

Were it not for Aziraphale’s quick reflexes, Crowley might have wrapped his body around the angel’s head like a Venus fly trap during his climax. Instead, Aziraphale held him down firmly, taking Crowley’s cock deeper in his mouth as Crowley rode out the waves of his orgasm. Once Crowley’s body had relaxed, Aziraphale lifted his mouth off of Crowley’s cock, sitting back on the stool with a smile on his face.

“Did you have a nice time, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, grinning as if he _hadn’t_ just sucked the last functioning brain cell out of Crowley through his dick.

Crowley’s head lolled to the side, breathing heavily, but evenly. “What?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Aziraphale laughed softly, leaning back to reach for the juice glass.

“Whassat?” Crowley asked, lifting his head slightly. He knew he was _allowed_ to move right now, but he didn’t think he _could_.

“The bountiful fruits of your effort,” Aziraphale said, lifting the tiny glass high in salute. He brought the glass to his lips, taking it like a shot while Crowley watched. Aziraphale licked his lips in satisfaction, placing the glass back down on the worktop. He stood up, leaning over to cup Crowley’s face between his hands to kiss him deeply. “You stay put. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Aziraphale said, leaving the room.

When he returned several minutes later, Crowley could see a few spots on his sleeves that appeared to be wet. Aziraphale blew out all of the candles on the worktop, slipped his arms beneath Crowley’s back and knees, and lifted him up off of the table. “Let’s get you into a nice warm bath to soothe those muscles, yes?”

Crowley nodded, kicking his feet with glee, but only just barely. His muscles were sore, after all. There was no need to go overboard with it.

“Look. I, uh, I have a _thing_ this weekend,” Bea said as she sat down on the couch while Gabriel flipped through Netflix options to pick something for their regular movie night. “Some team building exercise crap that nobody wants to do. Anyway, the place they’re hosting it at needs a large enough headcount to reserve the facility for the entire weekend or they can’t do it.”

“You sound like you don’t want to do it anyway,” Crowley said.

“I _don’t_ , but the alternative is a weekend full of seminars and presentations and going over reports.” Bea shivered. “Anyway, Arthur tried to get permission to bring his son and friends, but the venue requires participants be 18 or older for insurance purposes.”

“Insurance purposes? What is it they’re planning to do?” Aziraphale asked.

Gabriel grinned, an unnerving sparkle in his eye. “Paintball,” he said. “And _they don’t get to play._ ”

Bea glared at her husband. “Anyway, Arthur didn’t want to do it anyway, either. Told ‘em it was his weekend with the kids and he couldn’t find a sitter on such short notice, lucky sod.”

“I wouldn’t think a split custody agreement would be particularly lucky,” Crowley said quietly.

Bea laughed. “That’s the best part! He’s not even divorced! He and Deirdre are mad for one another. I can’t believe management bought that story.”

“What?” Crowley’s eyes widened with delight. He was a fan of a nice little amount of mayhem so long as it didn’t hurt anybody.

Bea nodded. “I was impressed.”

“Well,” Crowley drawled. “Perhaps Aziraphale and I could head off somewhere this weekend and you could tell them you two are pet sitting in two locations on account of the risk of death. Gabriel could watch Cleo at the shop and do, I don’t know, whatever it is he does there. You could hang out at my place and watch trashy television with Figgs. Granted, he’s got some rather strong opinions on a few shows, but I feel like they’d align with yours.”

“Tempting, but I don’t think it’ll work,” Bea said. “Anyway, do either of you think you’d like to come along? The venue includes lodging and dinner, and the company is paying for an open cocktail bar.”

“An open cocktail bar?” Aziraphale said, suddenly perking up.

“Looks like you’ve got your answer,” Gabriel grinned.

Bright and early that Saturday morning, the four set out for Tadfield. They took separate cars, just in case Bea had to stay later due to actual work responsibilities. They decided to meet up for breakfast before leaving London.

“It’s really not too difficult to get to Tadfield, “Bea explained, pulling up a map on her tablet.

“No need,” Crowley said. “I’ve been going to Tadfield at least once a year for the last…” He squinted one eye, looking at the ceiling. “I think around 14 years now. It was at least a year after I got the Bentley. I was on a job when I found out about the annual Classic Car show,” he said.

“That’s where we got Cleo,” Aziraphale added.

“You do? That’s great, then. Do you know where Tadfield Manor is?”

Crowley hissed inwardly through his teeth. “Now that part, I’m not certain of. Any particular landmarks?”

“Not certain. I’ve never been there, specifically, myself,” Bea said, trying to pull the information up. “Apparently, it used to be a convent-slash-birthing-hospital. St Beryl’s.”

“Oh!” Crowley perked up. “I know where that is, yeah. You can just follow me. I’ve been there before.”

“What were you doing at a birthing hospital?” Gabriel asked around a large bite of sausage.

“I had a client, a couple, really, who had been trying to have a baby for years. They had gone through all the fertility treatments and all that, but,” Crowley looked down at his coffee cup. “Just wasn’t in the cards. That’s when they called me.”

Aziraphale dropped his fork with a loud clatter, drawing the attention of everyone around them. “You bought and sold a _baby_?”

“ _No_ , I didn’t buy and sell a _baby_ , for fuck’s sake!” Crowley hissed, looking at him incredulously. He paused for a moment. “More like I scouted out a womb for rent,” he said quietly into his coffee cup.

“Right,” Bea said after a few minutes of awkward silence. “So, I’ll follow you to Tadfield Manor. Gabe and Aziraphale can handle phones if either of us loses sight of the other’s car.”

“Sounds good,” Crowley said, reaching for the check.

“Nope,” Bea said, snatching it up. “This one’s on me.”

“I really don’t mind,” Crowley protested.

“Nah. You’re _already_ doing me a favor. But you can get the next one if you want.”

Crowley sat back, crossing his arms to attempt a gesture of irritation. Bea scrunched her nose at him when his grin gave him away. _So this is what it’s like to have **real** friends_, Crowley thought. _I could get used to this._

They arrived at Tadfield Manor without any problems. Crowley parked carefully so Aziraphale wouldn’t have to step in the grass, then went to get their bags from the boot. They followed the signs to check in, received their participant packets, found their rooms, and returned to the lobby to await further instructions.

Bea stepped in beside a woman with a ponytail, indicating for the rest of them to line up beside her.

A man stepped up to the front of the room, clinking a pen against his coffee mug to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, who's excited by the training initiative? Let's see some hands. Yeah?”

A few hands shot up, but the majority stood with arms crossed or hands in pockets.

“Just so that you know, Norman,” the woman with a ponytail leaned over to the man on the side opposite to Bea, “I've registered a complaint with HR about this whole training initiative nonsense,” she said.

“It's a team-building exercise, Janice,” the man with the coffee mug said with exasperation. “And, um, just so as you know, there's no _I_ in _team_ , yeah?”

Crowley opened his mouth to speak, closing it quickly when Norman beat him to the point he wanted to make.

“But there's two _I's_ in _building_ , Nigel,” Norman explained. “And an _I_ in _exercise_."

“Yeah,” Nigel shrugged. “All right.”

Crowley zoned out as Nigel droned on about the itinerary and purpose of this training exercise. Apparently, it also had a _mission statement_ and no less than one brand new website created just last week.

“Are you listening, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked when Crowley didn’t respond. “You should be paying attention. Do you even know _how_ to play paintball?”

Gabriel scoffed at Aziraphale’s choice of words, having already pulled his lanyard out of the packet and put it on.

“Oh, I like paintball,” Crowley said mindlessly. “Big paintball fan, me. Let’s go play with some guns.”

“Not so fast,” Bea said. “You need to know which queue is yours.” She took the envelope from Crowley’s hands, fishing out the lanyard with his photo and name on it. There were two colors on the back, red and black. “Looks like you’re with me,” Bea said, hopping up to loop the lanyard around Crowley’s neck.

“What’ve you got?” Crowley asked Aziraphale, flipping his ID around. “Beige and blue. What’s that mean?”

“I have no idea,” Aziraphale said.

They looked at Bea, who just shrugged.

“Mine is beige and violet, not that anyone asked,” Gabriel said, looking away. “Probably to match my eyes, of course. That’s why you’ve got red, Bea.”

Bea smiled for the first time since they arrived. “Right,” she said. “Let’s go queue up for gear and get this over with."

“You’re not going to want those trousers on under this,” the woman at the booth said to Crowley. “You’ll hardly be able to run in those, and the summer overalls are in storage until spring. You’ll sweat and chafe like that.” She handed him a key with a tag on it. “Just take them off and tuck them in the locker with that number. Don’t worry, love, these have nice thermals sewn into the lining. You’ll be plenty warm running about. You can bring the key back when you turn in your gear.”

Crowley did _not_ want to have to tell this woman about what he had on underneath his trousers, nor did he want to admit that she was _probably_ correct. He hadn’t considered any of that when selecting the suspender belt with silk and lace stockings to wear with the tightest leather trousers he owned _specifically_ because he loved the way both items made Aziraphale react. He simply smiled and said nothing. He received a black overall, black wellies, and a red bandana, along with a cylinder full of red paintballs, and was directed to a room full of booths with curtains to change.

“Ugh,” he said, looking around. This was going to be difficult without a flat surface. He saw an open curtain and stepped inside.

Bea walked into the changing area and sat her pile of gear on the side in front of a large mirror. She nodded to a few of her coworkers coming in and out of the curtained booths, sitting down on a bench to take off her shoes. All the heads in the room turned when one of the curtains was ripped down as a flash of black and red tumbled out into the room.

Crowley was sprawled out in the floor, red-faced and embarrassed with his trousers around his knees and underthings on display for everyone.

Bea rushed over, grabbing the fallen curtain to cover him. “What are you all looking at? Nothing to see! Nothing to see here,” she said loudly, glaring as she glanced around. She helped him up, carefully keeping the curtain around his waist, and into another booth.

“Thank you,” Crowley said meekly. “I, um…”

“No need to be embarrassed,” Bea said.

“I’m not _embarrassed_ about who I am,” Crowley said defensively.

“No, I didn’t think you _were_ ,” she said with kindness and understanding. “That’s not what I meant. But you don’t need to explain yourself, not at all.” Bea looked up at him, quirking up one side of her lip into a half smile. “Do you need some help with your trousers, or do you want me to just step outside to guard your curtain?”

Crowley looked at her warily.

“I’m not here to judge you, Crowley. I’m here to help.”

Crowley bit his lip, considering, and nodded. “I can get them down enough if I need to piss, but I usually have to lie down to take them off otherwise. Though the stockings help.”

She smiled at him with frustrated endearment before crouching down to tug at his trouser legs. “Why would you wear something so impossibly difficult for you to take off without lying down?”

The flush on his face was all the answer she needed. She smirked up at him as she tugged one of his trouser-legs down. “Ah, yes, I understand.”

Crowley returned her smirk with a half-smile of his own.

Bea got the first leg off and began on the other. “Your secret is safe with me,” she said.

“I appreciate that,” Crowley said, watching with fascination at how easily she manipulated the leather to pull it down.

“These are quite lovely,” she remarked, gently touching the lace snake embroidery along the fabric of his silk stockings. “You don’t see stockings like these too often. Are those snakes, like your tattoo?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said quietly. “I had them custom made.”

Bea smiled warmly up at him. “Shame to cover them up.”

“I know things are better now, but…” Crowley sighed, looking around. “But it’s hard to break old habits of hiding in plain sight.”

Bea tilted her head with a nod of agreement.

“And truthfully,” Crowley continued nervously, “Sssometimes it’s no better nowadays than it was before, for p-people, you know…” His voice trailed off.

“For people like _us_ , you mean?” Bea said softly.

Crowley’s eyebrows rose slightly, not in shock or confusion, but in curiosity. He wanted to know more about how they were similar. “Like _us_?”

“ _Sort_ of, well, it… It’s…” Bea huffed a breath, blowing her fringe upward. “That’s not a conversation I want to have here, not where just anyone could be listening in. But it’s a conversation I think I _would_ like to have with you,” she said. “But just you and me. It isn’t anyone else’s business what we discuss.”

“Right,” Crowley nodded, not at all knowing what he was agreeing to. “Of course.”

Bea stood up, holding Crowley’s trousers in her hand. “I’d ask if you needed anything from the pockets, but you barely can squeeze _yourself_ in these,” she said with a grin as she slipped through the curtain.

After they changed into their gear, both equipped with black overalls, black wellies, red bandanas, and red paintballs, they went to await further instructions.

Crowley spotted Gabriel immediately in the crowd.

“What are _those_?” Crowley near-shouted, pointing down.

“What?” Gabriel asked, confused.

“You’re wearing _spats_!” Crowley remarked, looking down at Gabriel’s feet.”

“This is what they gave me to wear,” Gabriel shrugged. “Everybody got them, as far as I saw.”

“They just gave _us_ wellies,” Bea grunted. “Everyone in the black overalls, anyway.”

Crowley, eyes and mouth wide and playful, started silently laughing as Aziraphale walked up. “Oh, my _Someone_ , what the ever-loving _fuck_ have you done to that bandana?”

“I _like_ it,” Aziraphale preened, adjusting the smartly-tied bandana bowtie.

“You _would_ do something like that.” Gabriel laughed. “You look like you’re ready to give a Ted Talk about guerilla haberdashery.”

Aziraphale eyed him up and down with an arch of his brow. “And _you_ look like the blonde from that cartoon where they solve mysteries with a talking dog.”

“You look like a twattish prat,” Bea said, tugging at the bandana tied in a side knot around Gabriel’s neck.

“Crowley has his knotted on his neck, too,” Gabriel pouted.

“The _twattish prat_ looks suits him,” Bea said.

“Oi!” Crowley gasped, clutching his chest.

“She meant that as a compliment, my dear,” Aziraphale soothed.

“We clearly have wildly differing opinions on what constitutes as a compliment,” Crowley pouted, loosening his bandana until the knot hung lower.

“You know what? I’m not,” Gabriel scoffed. “I’m not gonna change mine. I’m _secure_ ,” he said, shrugging with an air of confidence.

“It’s fine with me,” Bea said, pulling him down by the collar of his overall. “You’re not on my team anyway," she said, kissing the tip of his nose.

A gust of wind blew Aziraphale’s hair into his face.

“Oh, come here, Angel,” Crowley tutted with a pout. “Let’s get that hair sorted.” Crowley pulled one of the elastics out of his own hair where it had been gathered at the nape of his neck below the clip at the top. He carefully finger-combed the top of Aziraphale’s hair back, pulling it into a messy half bun with bits sticking out.

“There,” Crowley said. “Much better. Now you don’t have to worry about your hair getting in the way.

Aziraphale smiled coyly at him, looking up, down, and back up. “Thank you,” he said.

Nigel, wearing a khaki-colored overall, stepped up to the podium at the edge of the maze where everyone was gathered. “All right, everyone, may I have your attention, please?” He tapped the microphone that was connected to the loudspeakers with his pen the same as he had the coffee mug earlier. “Most of you are familiar with one another through work, but we do have a few guests. I hope you’ve all had a moment to say hello to one another, but it’s time to get down to business. You’ve all been assigned to two opposing sides, but each side has three divisions, based on color. The color of your bandana is the color of your division, which is based on your role in the company. Guests, you have been randomly assigned team and division based on need to spread things out as evenly as possible.”

“Looks like you and Gabe are on different teams after all,” Crowley said, noting Gabriel’s violet bandana compared to the blue one Aziraphale wore.

“It would appear so,” Aziraphale agreed. “At least you and Bea are on the same team and division.”

Crowley scrunched his nose up with an affectionate grin as Bea winked and elbowed him gently. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Right, hate to break up your conversation, gents, but—”

Crowley glared from behind his glasses as both Aziraphale and Bea touched his arm, relaxing him once again.

“—You’ll need to know these rules, so you might want to listen up.” Nigel pulled out a folded slip of paper from his pocket. “Right, then. Okay, you can be hit below the knee up to two times and remain in play. The third hit is fatal and you will be considered to have exsanguinated.”

A hand shot up in the crowd.

“Means you’ve bled to death, George,” Bea shouted.

The hand went down.

“Thank you, Mrs. Cornet. As I was saying, if you are hit _anywhere_ above the knee, you are considered dead. Drop where you are and wait for a medic to remove you. This is where they will tally up how many hits, where they are located, and what color to assign points to the proper division. _Do not shoot the medics_. Your division and your team will be penalized.”

Nigel took a drink of water from his canteen. “You will also need to know that you _can_ be killed by your own teammates, regardless of division. These marks will also be tallied up, and the specific division colors found on their own teammates will result in a penalty.”

“No shooting your own foot, Aziraphale,” Gabriel whispered with a laugh.

“Obviously not,” Aziraphale snorted. “I’d have to shoot myself _three times_.

“Gentlemen!” The man up front said, clearing his throat. “As I was _saying_ ,” Nigel continued, “You’ll find that the Dusk team has red, orange, and yellow bandanas. The Dawn team has blue, indigo, and violet.”

“Dusk and Dawn?” Crowley asked.

Bea looked around at her coworkers. “Looks like they split us up between people who work locally here in Tadfield and the rest of us who work remotely,” she said. “Well, we _all_ used to work in the Firmament Technologies building back when it was located in Swindon,” Bea explained, “But to cut costs, they cast about a third of us out as the staff grew but the building didn’t. Later, they decided it was cheaper to operate in Tadfield, especially with a smaller in-house staff. Now I run a team on the remote worker side.”

“Why don’t you have a green bandana, then?” Crowley asked.

“I’m a team leader,” Bea said. “I do the same work, but I’m not considered upper management since I don't work in the office. Nigel's direct supervisor is my direct supervisor, though.”

A woman in a black overall, also wearing a green bandana, stepped towards the man at the podium. She carried a paintball rifle filled with green paintballs. “As you can see, management is represented on both sides," Nigel said.

“She works in the home office,” Bea said, nodding towards the woman who just walked up to represent the remote side. “She’s not a remote worker at all.”

Nigel continued. “We’ll be wearing green bandanas. You are _not_ to shoot any of us,” he said, looking out over the crowd. “Any division’s colors found on someone with a green bandana will be docked twice as many points as they would for shooting someone on their own team. If you get hit with a green paintball, you’ll also be docked double. Don’t let us catch you.”

“That doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Crowley asked, turning towards Aziraphale with a grimace. “They can shoot _us_ , but we can’t shoot _them_."

“Hardly seems sporting,” Aziraphale said with a look of concern. “Especially with the penalty involved.

Nigel smiled broadly at the group. “Any questions?”

Crowley slowly raised his hand.

“Uh, yes, the tall ginger in the dark glasses.”

“If this is a team building exercise, why is everyone trying to _shoot_ one another?”

“How long have you worked for the company?”

“Oh, I’m a guest. I don’t work for—”

“Well, I suppose there’s no reason for you to worry over that, then. You’re just here to fill a slot. Thank you for your participation, and by the by, you might want to zip your overall up all the way.” Nigel said. “Any other questions? Preferably from someone who _actually_ works for us?”

Bea’s hand shot up.

“Ah, yes,” Nigel smiled. “Bea Cornet. I recognize you. What did you want to ask?”

“Same question,” she said, nodding towards Crowley, who grinned widely at Nigel.

"Right," Nigel said, ignoring the question and clapping his hands together. "Let's get out there and have fun!"

The group were all given identical rifles and five minutes to load their paintballs and get into position. Once the airhorn was heard, it was time to begin.

Crowley considered staying where he was, but once he saw a few of the same people in khaki overalls circle back through a few times, he began to get antsy. _Surely, they’d think to look in here eventually,_ he thought. _Better to move on to an area with more black overalls._

Crowley had just managed to slip out of his hiding spot when he noticed Aziraphale looking frantic.

Crowley cupped his hands around his mouth as if he could fully control the direction of the sound he was making. “Angel!” he whispered loudly.

Aziraphale’s head jerked towards him, relief evident on his face. “ _Crowley_!” Aziraphale loudly whispered back. Two people in nearby in white overalls rolled their eyes.

Crowley motioned for him to come over, looking out around them as Aziraphale did so. The two of them ducked back towards the entrance to Crowley’s hole.

“Are you all right? You look positively flummoxed,” Crowley said, rubbing Aziraphale’s arms reassuringly.

“I just,” Aziraphale huffed with a sincere pout, “I would like nothing more than to sit down with a cup of tea and something to nibble without constantly being on the lookout for some _stranger_ trying to _hunt_ me.” He looked up at Crowley with doleful eyes. “And I’d personally rather not be shot. I can’t imagine it feels good at all.”

“Aww,” Crowley pouted, gently brushing a loose strand of Aziraphale’s hair out of his face to tuck behind his ear. “My poor, peckish angel. You just stay back here, then.” Crowley pointed to the same secluded corner he had just been hiding in. “This a good spot, I think.”

Aziraphale looked positively _delighted_ at Crowley. “Than—"

“You two,” Nigel said, rushing over. “Quit canoodling and get back out there.” His green _manager_ bandana was tied around his upper arm. “And you,” he said, pointing to Crowley. “You’re lucky I don’t shoot you right now. We’re on opposite sides. I could shoot you and dock you an hour for not taking this exercise seriously.”

Crowley quacked out a laugh. “Have you forgotten me _already_ , Nigel darling? We don’t work for you. We’re just here to fill in slots. Go on, then. Shoot me, if it suits you. I’ll just go sit down.” Crowley grinned, tossing his gun down. “I’m not even running or armed. Like shooting a… a _me_ in a barrel.“ He glanced towards Aziraphale. “How’s that for your _moral argument_?”

“Not very sportsman-like,” Aziraphale deadpanned, “Firing on an unarmed person.”

The manager let out a disgusted sigh. “Just _go_ ,” he said, waving his paintball rifle uselessly. “And zip up that overall!”

Crowley did _not_ zip up his overall.

Stealthily, Crowley slithered along every wall he could, trying to keep from being noticed as he moved around the central area, looking for another crevice to work himself into. Finding one that seemed appropriate, not to mention close enough for him to keep an eye on Aziraphale, he ducked inside.

At first, he was quite upset to have accidentally intruded on someone else’s hiding place. Recognizing the dark hair and red sunglasses, he relaxed.

“Bea, it’s me,” Crowley said, slithering up behind her.

“Crowley,” she acknowledged without looking away from the scope of her paintball rifle.

“Aziraphale isn’t having any fun,” Crowley said quietly.

Bea scoffed. “Not many of us are.”

“You misunderstand,” Crowley continued. “He’s having _considerably_ less fun than the rest of us.” He gestured towards Aziraphale.

Bea pointed the scope towards him to get a better look. “He _does_ look miserable, yeah?”

“Right,” Crowley sniffed nonchalantly. “So I was thinking,” he said, leaning in closer. “ _I_ can’t shoot him, and _you_ can’t shoot him, because he’d _know_. He’d probably assume it was one of us if someone in red got him.”

Bea turned to look at Crowley.

“Now,” Crowley continued. “I don’t _know_ these people, but you _do_. Perhaps someone with an orange or yellow bandana might happen to be informed of where he’s hiding.”

“What are you getting at, Crowley?”

“I’m saying perhaps, as a _favor_ , someone could… Put him out of his misery.”

Bea narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips in thought. “Done.”

“Oh, and maybe they could try to be gentle. He’s not looking forward to getting shot. He just wants to sit down with a cup of tea,” Crowley said. “Pleasure as always,” he grinned before crawling back out of the hiding spot.

Aziraphale looked up warily as a woman in a black overall with a yellow bandana stepped into his hiding spot. She slowly walked towards him.

“What… You, you’re awfully close, you know. That’s, I haven’t even…” Aziraphale eyed his own paintball rifle, propped up on the opposite side of the enclosure.

“Are you the Angel?”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, noticing his rifle on the opposite side as well. Slowly, she backed him into the corner.

“Really, erm, can’t we talk about this?” Aziraphale pleaded with a nervous smile, his hands up defensively. “There’s no need to, to—"

The woman lifted her rifle just high enough to catch the loose fabric of his overall above the knee. She pushed the barrel of her paintball rifle against the loose fold, pinning it to the wall. With a pull of her finger, she fired a yellow paintball into the fabric, missing Aziraphale’s leg entirely.

Aziraphale looked down at the yellow spot on his overall, then back up at the woman.

“Bea said you needed a cup of tea. Cheers, mate,” she said with a grin and a bow as she turned to walk away.

Crowley, having his most recent hiding spot rumbled, was sprinting across the field, dodging indigo paintballs as they whizzed past him from behind.

“You’ll never take me alive!” He shrieked with reckless abandon.

Suddenly, he felt a searing, stinging sensation slam right into the bare skin of his exposed solar plexus. He clutched his chest as he dropped to the ground with a loud yelp. After the stun wore off, Crowley looked down at his chest.

Green. He had been hit with a green paintball. _Well, isn’t **that** just wizard?_

Crowley lifted his head to see Nigel standing over him.

_Oh, this day is just getting better and better,_ Crowley thought.

“I told you,” Nigel said with a smug grin, “You should have zipped up your overall, yeah?”

Crowley dropped his head back down on the ground with an exasperated sigh. It was bad enough the man was a prick. He didn’t have to be so _right_ about it.

“Wait here for someone to collect you,” Nigel said, waving towards the distance.

Two people in white overalls with crosses on the front and back lumbered over towards them.

“Tell my husband I love him,” Crowley whispered dramatically, throwing his arm across his face as the field medics dragged him into a stretcher.

“Oi, mate,” the medic, who had seen them earlier, called out towards Aziraphale. “Your husband said to tell you—"

“ _Ssshhhut_ **_uuuuuuup_**!” Crowley hissed. “It was a joke.”

Aziraphale’s head turned. “What?”

“Uh,” The medic continued, looking down at Crowley then back at Aziraphale. “He, uh, he said it was a joke.”

“Forget it,” Crowley said, standing up. “I’ll just pop along, then.”

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you’ve been _hit_ , and now you’re _dead_.” Nigel reached over to grab Crowley’s arm. “You can’t just walk—“

Crowley threw his hands up in the shape of claws as he jerked away, hissing loudly. He laughed as Nigel jumped back, wide-eyed, tripping over the corner of the stretcher and stumbling down onto his knees. “I got better,” Crowley said, waving his hand in the air as he walked towards Aziraphale and the refreshment area.

Aziraphale smirked as Crowley sauntered over. “I suppose you’re proud of that little stunt you pulled, running through the battlefield like that.”

“Yes, I am!” Crowley grinned wildly.

“It still got you shot.”

“Well, it _wouldn’t_ have were it not for _Nigel_ ,” Crowley said, grimacing and shaking his head as he said the name sarcastically.

“Anyway,” Aziraphale said, wiping paint from Crowley’s chest gently with a napkin, “What do you say you and I go for a little walk while everyone else is trying to murder one another?” Aziraphale disposed of the napkin and held his elbow out.

“Love to,” Crowley replied, taking the offered arm.

“I really don’t see how what they’re doing is supposed to strengthen any bonds. If anything, I think it’s training the employees to stage a coup against management.”

Crowley laughed. “Think of it as a microcosm of the universe,” he said. “Besides, now that we’re out of the thick of it, we’ve got some time to kill,” Crowley grinned, linking his pinky finger with Aziraphale’s as they strolled along through the hall.

“It’s quite convenient, then, I suppose.”

“What’s that?” Crowley asked, stopping to turn and look at Aziraphale.

“Oh, nothing. I simply meant it was convenient that we both got taken out of the game early on so we’d have time to wander around unimpeded.” Aziraphale’s eyes shone with a conspiratorial gleam. “I wonder if Bea had anything to do with yours, too? She had me put down rather humanely.”

Crowley nodded slowly, pouting suspiciously while looking around.

Aziraphale’s face fell. “What did you do?” He sighed.

“Well,” Crowley said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I may have _implied_ to someone on my team to _suggest_ to someone in another division to go to the location where you _allegedly_ might have been hiding from everyone.”

“You put _a hit_ out on me?”

“Er, uh, no! Well…” Crowley faltered. “You looked like you needed a miraculous escape. Didn’t seem like you were having any fun otherwise.”

“You know, Crowley,” Aziraphale began.

Crowley tilted his head down so his eyes were visible from behind his glasses, looking up at Aziraphale and jutting out his bottom lip.

_You are ridiculously adorable_ , Aziraphale thought as he laughed. “I’ve always said that deep down, you really are quite a nice—”

Crowley gripped either side of Aziraphale’s coverall, pulling up as he quickly backed Aziraphale against the wall in the hallway. “I’m _not_ nice,” Crowley grinned. “I’m _never_ nice. Nice is a four-letter word.” He leaned in close enough for their noses to touch. “And I’m also _not_ wearing trousers underneath this.”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. “Are you at _least_ wearing underthings?”

“ _Yes_ , I’m wearing underthings,” Crowley hissed. “I’m not going to go around in a rented overall with my bits hanging out, rubbing against _who knows_ who’s been there.”

Aziraphale tried not to laugh as he watched Crowley pretending not to laugh while he sneered and slid himself forward on Aziraphale’s thigh, pressing their bodies closer together.

“What were you saying, my dear? Something about a four-letter word, was it?”

“Oh, right,” he said, licking his lips. “Actually, I—”

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” the venue director said as she approached. “Sorry to break up an…” She looked them up and down. “An intimate moment,” she continued. “Can I help you?”

“You!” Crowley said.

“Saints and demons preserve us, it’s Anthony Crowley,” she said with a surprised smile. “I didn’t recognize you at first with your hair up.”

Crowley grinned broadly, glancing down at the ID badge clipped to her lapel. “I had no idea you ran this place, Mary. How have you been?”

“Oh, _wonderful_ , thank you for asking. You’ve got a remote worker lanyard,” Mary said. “I didn’t realize you were an employee now. Did you get tired of working for yourself?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. We’re here as guests of a friend of ours that _does_ work for the company, though.”

“How fun!”

“Angel, this is Mary. She and I coordinated that surrogate arrangement I was telling you about before.”

Aziraphale smiled politely, clearing his throat as he lowered his leg down from between Crowley’s thighs.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Crowley said, stepping back off of Aziraphale. “Mary, this is Aziraphale. He’s my b—” Crowley coughed as he caught himself, clearing his throat. “He’s my best friend.”

Mary looked between the two of them, her eyebrows lifting slightly with a closed-mouth smile. “Hmm,” she said as she leaned her head back slightly. “Right.”

Crowley and Mary chattered together, catching up on the last decade or so. It was strange, Aziraphale thought, to see Crowley this animated and happy talking with someone other than himself, Bea, Gabriel, or Figgs. Crowley was usually either courteously polite to service people, or else he just generally avoided conversation with anyone.

It wasn’t until Bea came walking up that they realized how much time had passed.

“There you two are,” she said.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “It would appear that Crowley knows the director here.”

Crowley turned his head, still smiling. “Bea, meet Mary. She and I worked together on the surrogate thing I was talking about this morning.” He turned to Mary. “Mary, this is Bea. She works for whatever the name of the company that’s rented this place out for the weekend is.”

Bea extended her hand. “Bea Cornet, Firmament Technologies.”

Eventually, the battle was over. Gabriel managed to come out on the other side free of paint and _very_ excited about that. The four had dinner and drinks, enjoying each other’s company in spite of the occasional visits to their table by various management faces as the passed out itineraries for the next day. After a lovely meal and many, _many_ drinks with umbrellas, the four said goodnight and parted ways, heading in opposite directions of the hall to their rooms.

In the middle of some very loud and enthusiastic pelvic grinding, there was a loud banging on Crowley and Aziraphale’s door.

"Oh, not this again," Aziraphale said with a groan, rolling off of Crowley. "You stay put and _behave_." Aziraphale jumped up, throwing his robe on and tossing Crowley’s robe to him before answering the door. 

“Can I help you?” Aziraphale asked politely, clutching his robe tightly shut.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but _some_ of us are trying to sleep, yeah? This is entirely too much noise for this late at night. Do you think you could stop banging about exorcising demons for a few hours?”

Recognizing the voice, Crowley sprang to life. “Sorry, Nigel, but they assigned us this room and there’s only _one_ bed,” Crowley called out from behind Aziraphale. “Couldn’t be helped. You know how it is.”

Aziraphale huffed out a laugh with an apologetic smile. “We’ll keep it down, I can assure you,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“Well, _you_ certainly straightened _him_ out,” Crowley grinned cheekily.

“ _Surely_ you can be quieter,” Aziraphale smirked, climbing back into bed and over Crowley.

“I’m not the one who’s knocking the headboard about,” Crowley growled, pinching Aziraphale’s side.

“You do have a point,” Aziraphale said, leaning down to brush his lips against Crowley’s jaw. “And as you mentioned, there is only the _one_ bed,” he said, tickling his fingers up along Crowley’s side.

Crowley snorted, trying not to laugh.

Aziraphale’s eyes darted around, pondering how to solve this problem. “Aha!” Aziraphale shifted off of Crowley long enough to stuff the edge of a pillow between the headboard and the wall. “Problem solved,” Aziraphale said proudly. “Now let’s get that ridiculous robe open.”

The next day, during an 8:00 am breakfast, Gabriel and Crowley _somehow_ managed, through a series of antics, to knock out the crepe station in the cafeteria, much to both Bea and Aziraphale’s irritation. A couple of hours later, there was a lecture from 10:30 am until 11:30 am. Bea was required to attend, but she could only bring one guest into the lecture with her.

“I’ll go,” Aziraphale said, still irritated about missing out on the crepes he had been looking forward to ever since marking down his allergy information on the menu cards for the weekend.

“Thank you. Can’t take this one anywhere,” Bea said, thumbing towards Gabriel. She, too, was upset at missing out on crepes.

Aziraphale, having been too disgusted with the situation to eat anything _else_ for breakfast, looked over the assortment of snacks provided. He swatted Gabriel’s hand as he reached for a pack of cheese and onion crisps.

“Hey!” Gabriel said. “This is my cheat weekend. I can have crisps.”

“Fine,” Aziraphale agreed. “But you get the plain crisps. You're in trouble. You don't get flavor."

Crowley snorted, reaching for a pack of salt and vinegar crisps, only to receive a similar swat of the hand from Bea.

“The same goes for you,” she said.

Just before 10:30, Bea and Aziraphale turned to walk towards the lecture area. “Behave yourselves,” Bea said, pointing her fingers at her eyes and then at the two of them. “We’ll all meet up in the cafeteria for lunch when Aziraphale and I are done here.”

Gabriel and Crowley watched them enter the room, closing the door behind them.

“So,” Crowley began, nudging an elbow against Gabriel’s arm, “Now that they’re sorted for the next hour, d’you wanna go eat all the crisps with _flavor_ we can?”

Gabriel laughed, “Oh, _God_ , yes.”

After the lecture, Bea and Aziraphale sat in the cafeteria for about ten minutes before Crowley and Gabriel showed up. Aziraphale and Bea had been courteous enough to wait to eat until they were all there. Where breakfast had been buffet style, lunches and dinners were from a pre-set menu, served to the table.

“You’re barely eating,” Aziraphale said.

“Eh, erm, uh, you know me,” Crowley shrugged, shaking his head and waving his cup. “I’m rarely that hungry during the early part of the day.”

“ _You’re_ not eating much, either,” Bea said, pointing her fork at her husband.

“Eh,” Gabriel shrugged, scrunching his face without looking up from his plate. “Just, you know, not really that hungry.”

She glared at him for a moment before pulling his face to hers and kissing him. She pulled back with a scowl. “Cheese and onion.”

Gabriel looked at Bea with wide-eyed mild panic. “It was _his_ idea!” Gabriel said, pointing at Crowley.

Crowley turned red, taking a large sip of tea and swishing it in his mouth.

“Oh, _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale admonished.

“I’m not _seven_ , Aziraphale,” Crowley retorted. “I can eat crisps if I want to.”

“That’s true,” Gabriel said. “Next thing you know, they’re gonna ask us if we need a juice box and a nap.”

Aziraphale turned a mischievous eye towards Crowley. “ _Do_ you need some juice, Crowley?”

Crowley sputtered into his tea cup. “Sorry,” he said, reaching for his napkin as Aziraphale sat back with a smug smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! Sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I'm still trying to catch up with things that I got behind on when I didn't have a working computer, plus I've had several kind of crap days that left me unable to get any writing or art done other than a few doodles to test out another art style.
> 
> BUT!!!  
> [I have surpassed 500 followers on Instagram!!!](https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/dtiysamadness2methodnsfw/) Because of this, I'm running a DTIYS for anything I've done, both art and fic. I don't care what your style is, or if you think you can't draw. You lose nothing by trying.  
> Anyone participating should post to Instagram and tag me in it! @amadness2method for SFW and slightly NSFW (Suggestive poses are okay, no visible nudity), and @RubberDuckOfSin for NSFW (Go wild, y'all.)  
> Please use the hashtag #DTIYSamadness2method or #DTIYSamadness2methodNSFW on Instagram if you do, because during the first week of September, I'll be combining the names of people who posted a DTIYS with those hashtags to win a FREE commision by me. (Within reason. There are some things I might not be comfortable painting, butI don't mind people asking. We can discuss it.)
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! Updates might be a bit wonky as I'm getting caught up, but please know that even if I don't always reply, your comments and kudos sustain me and encourage me to write more.
> 
> Don't forget, [Check out my linktree to find my social streams to see art early.](https://linktr.ee/amadness2method)


	11. A Very Palpable Hit!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Biscuits, Bicycles, Battleship, Coffee, Cars, Cooking, and Cats.  
> And yes, they're still idiots, as has been foretold in prophecy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: A reference to an instance of bodyshaming that happened "off-screen" and does not happen directly in the chapter itself
> 
> Also! The art in this chapter is NSFW. Fair warning. It's in the middle of a sex scene, so you'll know it's coming up. I just wanted to mention that this art is specifically going to show skin and nudity, rather than just the suggestion of something, so you'll know to take precautions if you are somewhere that you need to be wary of images.

After the final dinner at Tadfield Manor, Crowley and Aziraphale packed up the Bentley for the return trip to London, leaving Bea and Gabe behind. Bea had been right that she would have needed to stay behind for a few things at the end of the weekend.

“You know,” Aziraphale began as they drove along, the sunset fading around them, “All in all, that was…” Aziraphale’s voice trailed off, unable to complete his thought.

Crowley snorted. “Yeah, it was a bit shit, but we still had fun, didn’t we?”

Aziraphale laughed softly. “I suppose we _did_ , rather,” he agreed with an amused smile.

They were nearing the edge of Tadfield when Aziraphale next spoke. “Crowley, as eager as I am to return to London, I _think_ we can manage it just as well at a slower speed.”

Crowley shook his head side to side with a smirk as they climbed up a steep gradient. “Relax, Angel. I know this road like the back of my—"

As they came rushing over the top of the hill, the Bentley’s headlights lit up the reflectors on a pair of spoked wheels before them.

“Watch out!” Aziraphale shouted.

Crowley gasped as he slammed on the brakes just in time to hear a loud yelp and a sickening _crunch_.

“You’ve hit someone,” Aziraphale said, eyes wide.

“I didn’t,” Crowley said in disbelief as his knuckles tensed and tightened. “Someone hit _me_ ,” he said irrationally, starting to panic.

By the time Crowley was able to pry his hands off of the wheel, Aziraphale was already out of the car and down in the ditch, helping up a woman in an ankle-length green plaid skirt. He carefully pulled a few leaves from her long, dark hair as they made their way up to the side of the road.

“You hit me with your car,” she said, eyeing the Bentley warily. “You really did that.”

“I didn’t!” Crowley replied. “I didn’t hit _you_ at all!”

“You ran over my bike,” she replied defiantly.

“Wh-, uh, I, er, I didn’t _intend_ to!” Crowley sputtered. “Y-you threw your bike out into the road in front of me!”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale admonished.

“Angel, I _saw_ her push the bicycle,” Crowley said to Aziraphale before turning to the young lady. “You're an American. Are you a _litigious_ American? Do you do this often enough that you’ve developed a _system_?” He asked, bringing a look of shock and appall to Aziraphale’s face. “You see a nice car coming and throw your bicycle out into the road in front of it? You could have been hurt.”

The woman’s eyes went almost as round as her glasses. “I didn’t _push_ my bike,” she said, suddenly looking around with a pained expression. “Well, okay, maybe I _did_. But I panicked when I saw you barreling straight for me as fast as you were going, and that just sort of happened. I didn’t _mean_ to push it, but I was trying to get out of the way quickly.”

Crowley did not appreciate her making a sensible argument about a sensible decision in the heat of the moment. It wasn’t that he would have _preferred_ to have hit both the bicycle and the woman, not at all. He’d have preferred neither of them had fallen in the road in front of him to begin with. Unfortunately, that, too, was a _sensible_ thing, and he wasn’t in a sensible _mood_.

Aziraphale busied himself with picking up the bicycle, looking it over as if he had a lick of mechanical knowledge, and astutely announced, “Your wheel is bent, and your chain appears to have come undone.”

“The chain was the problem, I think,” the woman said. “The chain locked up while I was pedaling. When the wheels stopped suddenly, I ended up thrown into the ditch,” she said, rubbing her wrist. "I was trying to get my bike out of the road when you two showed up and I ended up in the ditch again."

Aziraphale looked upon her with sympathy. “You poor dear,” he said kindly.

Crowley, who was still quite shaken up and not thinking particularly clearly in a _general_ sense, looked away with a sigh. It was generally easier to just let Aziraphale handle conversations with others, right now, he decided, allowing himself to relax with a long, slow exhale.

Aziraphale gestured to the car. “Where do you need to get to?”

“No, no, we’re not giving her a lift,” Crowley said, suddenly reactivated. Nobody rode in his car. _Nobody_. Well, _almost_ nobody. Still, that didn’t matter. There was a very logical reason not to do it. “There’s nowhere to put the bicycle.”

“True,” Aziraphale considered. “You don’t appear to have a bike rack—”

"—Because I _don't_ —” Crowley replied as they spoke over one another.

"Do you think it would fit in the—”

Crowley shook his head rapidly, nipping that train of thought right in the bud. “Nope, no. Won't fit." Even _without_ their bags taking up residence in the boot, he was not about to try to cram a bent hunk of metal into the Bentley, particularly not while his hands were still shaking. "And besides, it’s not like we’re a couple of consenting bicycle repairmen. I’ll call someone, shall I? I’ll just do that.” Crowley nervously pulled his phone out from the inside of his jacket.

Aziraphale gave him a _look_. It was the sort of look that unmistakably said he was _not_ happy at all with what was happening. It was a look that conveyed that, yes, Aziraphale _would_ go along with things, but he had every intention of being _tetchy_ about it.

Crowley, in an attempt not to wither underneath Aziraphale’s gaze, continued on. “She doesn’t _want_ to ride with us, Angel. We could be _murderers_ for all she knows,” Crowley said, flipping through his phone.

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. “We’re _not_!” He hissed at Crowley quietly before turning to the woman, shaking his head in an attempt to convince her. “We’re _not_ , I _promise_.”

“She doesn’t know that, Angel,” Crowley said with a twitching shrug of his shoulders, not looking up from his phone. “You’d rather ride with a verified rideshare with tracking than a couple of strangers, wouldn’t you?” Crowley looked up after dialing the number, holding the phone out to her. “I’ll pay for it. You don’t have to give _any_ of your information to us. Tell them I have card or cash.”

Crowley paced around, stuck in his own head while the woman spoke with the taxi service. Had he been paying attention, he might have heard her name. As it was, he hadn’t even noticed her asking for a vehicle with a bike rack or other reasonable accommodation for her bicycle. He was busy trying to figure out how to fix things.

By the time she handed his phone back to him, he had come up with a plan.

“Tomorrow morning, you can call anyone you like, but I personally have had dealings with the Horsemen's Garage,” Crowley explained, pulling one of his business cards out to write the number from his phone down on the back. “They do all sorts of work, but they’re very focused on what they do. They’re local here in Tadfield, near the airbase. Just call them. Let them know I’ll be covering the bill, whatever it amounts to. Anything you need. Tell them to call me to let me know someone came in with a smashed bicycle for me to pay the repairs on, and—”

“Do you do this often enough that you’ve developed a system and I need to _specify_ that part?” The woman asked, arching an eyebrow.

Crowley tilted his head to the side, eyeing her condescendingly. “No, this is a _first_ for me,” he said, handing her the card.

The woman’s eyes widened slightly behind her owlish glasses, followed by a look of pure fascination as she read the name on the card next to the snake logo. “The _serpent_ ,” she said, her voice barely carrying on the breeze as she looked up at them, “And the _angel_.”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale asked, not having heard her fully.

“Um,” she said, looking between them with what appeared to be a new attitude. “You’re Anthony Crowley,” she said, recognizing his name though they had never met properly in person before now.

“Yup,” he said, popping the p. “That’s me. Upstanding citizen, Anthony J. Crowley,” he said, leaning against the side of the Bentley, the knee that wasn’t locked into place twitching wildly.

“I think you were _meant_ to run over my bi—"

“Just, look,” Crowley said, cutting her off as he waved his hands in the air futilely. “I’m sorry, all right? They, they’ll fix your wheel, or, or they’ll replace it. I’ll have them look over the rest of it for you, too. Fix the chain, at least, so that doesn’t happen again,” Crowley said quietly. “No sense in duping some other sod into some sort of ineffable calamitous nonsense.”

She closed her mouth, considering, and let the matter drop. “Thank you,” she said, and that was the end of it. She knew they'd figure things out eventually. She just wasn't quite sure how yet.

As the mystery woman, and her broken bicycle, were carried away by taxi, Aziraphale noticed brake lights coming from another car that just passed them, still on the side of the road. The car reversed quickly, backing its way to park in front of the Bentley.

Both the driver and passenger doors opened. “Everything all right?” Gabriel asked as he got out of the car directly next to Aziraphale, looking up and down the road while waiting for Bea to come around from the driver's side.

“What happened?” Bea asked.

Crowley grimaced, shaking his head.

Aziraphale softened somewhat, upon realizing how anxious Crowley was. He slid a supportive arm around Crowley’s lower back. “No one was hurt, but there was a bit of an accident,” Aziraphale explained.

Bea looked up at Crowley, rubbing her hand soothingly along his arm. She sighed, nodding her head. “All right, she said, guiding him over to her car. “Get in. You’ve got longer legs than Aziraphale, so you’ll sit behind me on my side. Let’s go get you something hot to drink and give you a little time to calm down, yeah? We’ll bring you back to your car after.”

Crowley nodded mutely, temporarily stunned into silence, allowing himself to be guided into the backseat of the car. He slid over next to Aziraphale, who had gotten in on the opposite side.

“I _really_ like your friends, Angel,” Crowley said quietly.

“They’re _our_ friends, Aziraphale corrected. “And they like _you_ , too.”

“I want to start coming in earlier so I can leave earlier,” Didi said as Crowley entered the office and sat down at his desk.

He yawned before he narrowed his eyes. “ _How_ early?”

“I’d like to come in at 6:00 and leave at 2:00,” Didi replied, standing up to walk over to the coffee station.

Crowley cringed. “Do I need to be here for you to do that?”

Didi turned around briefly to face him. She scrunched up her nose and shook her head. “I’d rather you _weren’t_ ,” she said playfully, turning around once more to pour coffee into two mugs. “I get more done when you’re out of the office.”

Crowley slapped his hand over his heart dramatically. “You wound me.”

She grinned, cocking her head to the side. “I’d still be on-call, of course,” Didi explained. I can check emails and answer calls on my mobile, but I’d rather get the stuff I need to coordinate from here done and over with early on.” She opened the small refrigerator to get two ice cubes, placing them into the black mug with a red bottom, stirring as she did so.

“Might be nice for you to have a few afternoons free,” Crowley mused, looking down at his fingernails casually. “I’d imagine it would do _wonders_ for your temperament.”

“Especially without you here getting in the way,” Didi said, placing his coffee mug on his desk while taking a sip from her own fresh cup.

Crowley smirked. “All right, then. One condition,” he said, pausing long enough to stir the last of the melting ice into his coffee before bringing his mug to his lips to blow on the surface. Crowley generally preferred his coffee just barely on this side of too hot to drink, but for his _first_ cup of the day, he wanted to get it inside of his body as quickly as possible. “On your way in, you’ll make your usual stop first, yes?”

“Most likely.”

“I’d like you to check with me to see that I need anything before you do. A few times a week, I’ll likely have an order texted to you the night before. Just drop it by my flat and place it on the table inside the door on your way to the office.”

Didi arched an eyebrow. “You’re not much for pastry, and I thought you liked to sleep in.”

“Yes, well, on days I’d _need_ pastry, his _blasted_ alarm wakes me up before the bookshop opens,” Crowley muttered into his mug as he took his first sip.

“What was that?”

Crowley closed his eyes and grunted, still drinking.

Didi regarded Crowley carefully with a smirk as he continued to hide behind his mug. After a moment, she asked, “Shall I pay for it with petty cash?”

Crowley sat his now empty mug down, licking his lips. “Y-yeah. Yours, too. Anything you like.”

“Done.”

Crowley and Aziraphale stood together, as they had many other times, in the kitchen preparing dinner. It was a comfortable thing, something they often alternated on. It was a habit they had somehow fallen into. Tonight, they were in Aziraphale’s kitchen.

Usually, this was one of Crowley’s favorite parts in the day, as they were spending more and more of them together, when he and Aziraphale would reach around one another to get into cupboards, stealing little touches and kisses along the way. Crowley almost thought that if he squinted, it might have looked a little bit like _home_. Not that he had any experience with that sort of thing, but the feeling was nice.

It certainly was _cozy_ , anyway

.

Aziraphale had seemed so distracted the whole evening. Crowley knew _something_ was wrong, but he couldn’t tell what, not yet. All he knew was that Aziraphale was possibly upset about something, and Crowley wanted to make that better.

Without realizing he had done it, Crowley found himself standing behind Aziraphale, wrapping his arms tightly around him and laying his head on his shoulder from behind. At first, Crowley started to panic, worried he had gone too far. When Aziraphale reached a hand up to gently squeeze Crowley’s arm and offered a cheek for a nuzzle, Crowley decided that he’d just stay clung to Aziraphale for a little bit longer, following each step as Aziraphale attempted to walk about without breaking physical contact.

Every time Crowley’s hands slipped underneath Aziraphale’s shirt, brushing over the angel’s stomach to draw him closer, Aziraphale tensed, but held onto Crowley’s hands rather than letting him move away. Instead, Aziraphale moved Crowley’s hands to more neutral areas, punctuated by a kiss to the knuckles

It didn’t appear to be convenient to try to cook like this, but Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he didn’t appear to want to allow Crowley to let go, even as Aziraphale walked to get around in the kitchen.

Crowley watched from his current position of personal limpet as Aziraphale grasped an onion in one hand, paring knife in the other, cutting a small slice off of the base of the onion. He carefully twisted the blade halfway around the stem before scoring the skin down the side. He put the knife down, rubbing his thumbs up from the bottom along the slit he had cut to lift up the corners, tugging them up and off of the sides, pulling the skin up past the stem. He gave a sharp twist, revealing a shiny, white onion in one hand and a single piece husk of an onion skin in the other. Aziraphale placed the perfect onion on the cutting board and reached for another when he noticed Crowley watching him.

“What?”

“How did you do that? I’ve never seen someone skin an onion with a paring knife quite like that.”

“It’s an onion, Crowley. What did you _expect_ me to do, use a vegetable peeler?”

Crowley huffed a small laugh through his nose before giving Aziraphale a peck on the cheek. “Still good, are we? I’m not bothering you here, am I?”

Aziraphale shook his head slightly, leaning back into Crowley after. “Not at all. I’m actually enjoying it quite a bit, thank you. Comforting.”

Aziraphale’s words soothed knotted spots along Crowley’s arms, legs, and shoulders where he dangled over the precipice between too far and just right. That was something friends did, wasn’t it? It was _fine_ , Crowley was certain. As long as Aziraphale enjoyed it, and Crowley certainly did, too, this was fine.

Crowley nuzzled his nose into Aziraphale’s hair. “I’m like an old blanket about your shoulders, is that it?”

Aziraphale _almost_ smiled. “Yes.”

Crowley hummed a soft, satisfied sound as he continued to watch Aziraphale’s hands moving along the cutting board. If Crowley had his way, he could have stayed that way forever, he thought. Just this, the two of them entwined, working and moving in tandem as if they had been made to fit together. Were it not for a few problems, it would have been everything Crowley could ask for.

But that _was_ the problem, wasn’t it? Crowley couldn’t ask for any of this. It was all just puppet shadow on a cyclorama. A beautiful approximation of a lovely story, told in such a way that wrapped the viewer up in warm light and soft, filtered joy. But no matter the richness of the detail, the enthusiasm of the players, at the end of the show, the lights would go down and everyone would go home.

Crowley closed his eyes tightly. The show wasn’t over, at least not yet, and he still had a plot point to discover.

“Are you all right?” Crowley whispered unintentionally in as much as he hadn’t planned to ask this way, but intentional in that he was grasping for anything to distract himself from his own reverie.

Aziraphale’s hands slowed until Crowley eventually took the knife from him and finished the dicing. Aziraphale gently placed his hands on Crowley’s forearms. Crowley could feel Aziraphale taking a deep breath within his arms, as if he intended to speak. Instead, all that came out was a dissatisfied sigh and a small shake of his head. Crowley closed his arms tighter around Aziraphale as they continued to work together to prepare their meal in silence.

As much as Crowley hated to do so, he had to pull away from Aziraphale in order for them to sit down to eat. While he didn’t want to pry, he wanted to ensure Aziraphale knew he _could_ talk to him about whatever was bothering him, if he just _would_. Crowley wondered if Aziraphale might have been more forthcoming with whatever was wrong if Crowley were a bit less of a generic plaything and a bit more _real_.

 _That’s not fair_ , Crowley thought. _Aziraphale isn’t like that, not really. Just because he isn’t in love with me, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t… He actually **does** care. I **know** that. I know that beyond any shadow of doubt. _Crowley sighed to himself. _I asked for this, really, and he’s given me every single thing I’ve asked of him._

Crowley’s thoughts pulled him back up onto his strings. He would find a way to comfort Aziraphale _somehow_. Aziraphale was his friend first, before any of the sex, any of the scenes they played out, their friendship was more important than all of that. Once you pulled back the curtains and looked beyond the props, the stage was clear. Aziraphale meant the world to him.

Crowley waited until Aziraphale had finished the last of his dinner before offering up the surprise he had brought over.

“I have something for you,” Crowley said with a goofy grin.

“Do you, now?” Aziraphale asked without any enthusiasm as he cleared the dishes from the table.

“I do, yes,” Crowley said, sauntering over to the cupboard where he had stashed away a tartan tin. “Wanted to wait until you’d had a proper dinner first, though.”

A previously disinterested eyebrow arched. “What’s that, then?”

Crowley offered the tin to Aziraphale. “I made you shortbread,” he said, lifting the lid to reveal several small, round biscuits with edible flowers pressed into them.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, darting between the tin and Crowley. “Are those flowers? You made biscuits with real flowers?”

Crowley, upon learning that they would be working with edible flowers in class, researched the language of flowers as much as he could for the entire week leading up to it. He carefully curated as many edible flowers as he could find to convey his purpose.

Assorted petals and herbs graced the tops of the tiny biscuits in the tin. While the selections in general were important, there was one particular biscuit he had made _especially_ for this particular angel. The biscuit was topped with different colors of crystallized rose petal pieces arranged along a sprig of rosemary, meaning _you are my everything,_ and _loyalty_ , respectively. With a cautiously eager hand, Crowley lifted up to offer to Aziraphale.

Crowley would feed his love to Aziraphale even if he could not speak it.

Aziraphale’s expression shifted. “Oh,” he said in a way that felt like a punch to Crowley’s gut. “I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. I, I’m quite full from dinner. Thank you, though. They look lovely.”

Crowley, keeping calm control over his face, hoped the disappointment wouldn’t show as he carefully placed the biscuit back into the tin, closing the lid. “Oh. Right, then,” he said, putting the tin away. "Meh."

It wasn’t like Aziraphale to turn down a biscuit, but Aziraphale wasn’t exactly himself, either. Trying not to take it personally, Crowley sought out other ways to cheer Aziraphale up. After a few games, including a rousing round of strip Battleship, Aziraphale seemed to be somewhat in better spirits while Crowley found himself in _considerably_ fewer articles of clothing.

As tended to happen when Crowley invariably ended up naked, they moved from the living room to the bedroom. When Crowley reached for the light switch, Aziraphale stopped him.

“Leave the light off.”

Crowley pouted, but did as he was told. “Can I at least turn on the lamp?”

There was a pause. “On low,” Aziraphale allowed.

Crowley grinned, walking around to his side of the bed to turn on the dim lamp at his bedside table. He climbed onto the bed, crawling towards Aziraphale, inviting him to the center of the mattress. Aziraphale, who had only lost his shoes, socks, trousers, and tie during their game, held Crowley in his lap as the two kissed and touched. When Crowley’s fingertips started to slip beneath Aziraphale’s shirt, a strong hand caught his delicate wrist.

“I…” Aziraphale began, shaking his head. “I’d rather leave my shirt on, if you don’t mind.

Crowley’s brow furrowed. “That… Well, if that’s what you _want_ , that’s what we’ll do,” Crowley said, scooting back out of Aziraphale’s lap. “But I have to ask you again. Is something wrong? You’ve been acting so strange tonight.” Crowley was on his knees before Aziraphale on the bed. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Well, I…” Aziraphale sighed. “I suppose the crux of the matter is that I’m not feeling particularly _sexy_ right now.”

“Oh, _Angel_ ,” Crowley said, leaning back to look Aziraphale over. _You’re so beautiful_ , Crowley thought _, more brilliant than any star in the sky, especially when you smile_. He longed to see that smile right then. He had an idea, as silly as it was, but he hoped it would work.

“Angel, look at my dick,” Crowley said, leaning back. “It’s a special one.”

“It is quite lovely, yes.”

“Thank you. But that’s not my point,” Crowley said. “You see, it’s a _sexy-detector_ , and you will notice it is pointed right at you,” Crowley said, biting his lips and wiggling his hips.

Aziraphale snorted. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yes, I am!” Crowley preened, wiggling his hips again.

Aziraphale, in spite of himself, smiled.

“Ah,” Crowley said with a grin. “ _There_ you are. That’s the smile I fell—”

 _Nope_ , Crowley thought, catching himself. _Don’t throw that on top of everything else that’s bothering him._

“—Felt was missing since I got here,” Crowley said, correcting course rather well, if he did say so himself.

Aziraphale’s smile shifted into a small frown. “I’m so sorry, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “I haven’t meant to ruin your evening.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up as he shook his head frantically. “And you haven’t! I’ve been worried, yes, but you haven’t ruined anything, not at all. I just wish you’d let me know what was wrong”

Aziraphale looked up at the ceiling, huffing out a small sigh of defeat. He explained about the group of customers who had gone out of their way to point out everything they had decided was wrong with Aziraphale, including the thickness of his waist. Normally, he didn't hold much value on the things other said in passing, but there was something about this particular interaction that hung over his head.

 _Maybe they were right,_ Aziraphale thought sadly. _We **do** look ridiculous together. I've no place next to him._

Crowley quickly climbed over into Aziraphale’s lap, running his hands over his sides. “Let me make you feel better.” Crowley leaned into Aziraphale, nuzzling his nose across the angel’s cheek. “What do you need?” Crowley asked breathlessly as their lips came together. “Anything you want, ask, and it’s yours.” He opened his eyes to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. “ _Anything_.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes with a grimace. “I, I don’t…” He shook his head.

Crowley gently guided Aziraphale to lean back. “It’s okay if you don’t know,” Crowley said reassuringly, unbuttoning buttons and sliding up Azirapha'es vest to lean down to nuzzle his face and hands against Aziraphale’s stomach. Crowley watched as Aziraphale’s head tilted back, closing his eyes. Crowley let out an appreciative sigh as he squeezed gentle fingertips along a roll of skin previously hidden by the fabric of Aziraphale’s shirt. “How about I tell you what makes _me_ feel better? Would that help?”

Aziraphale nodded, opening his eyes to look at Crowley once more.

Crowley smiled warmly at him, settling his head on Aziraphale’s chest just above his heart. “Whenever I feel bad, I think about my favorite place,” he said, reaching up to brush Aziraphale’s hair out of his face. “I think about how wonderful and _good_ it is, and I start to feel better.”

“Where is that?” Aziraphale asked, timidly.

Crowley pushed his hands underneath Aziraphale on either side, squeezing tight. “Right here, with you,” he said, moving his head to press a kiss against the swell of Aziraphale’s stomach just before burying his face in the soft folds there with a contented rumble of a sigh.

 _I love you,_ Aziraphale thought to himself as he slipped his fingers into Crowley’s hair. _You always know just what to do. You’re so good to me_. Aziraphale smiled _. Sometimes, it feels almost as if you actually loved me, too._

“Crowley?”

“Yeah?” Came the softly muffled reply.

“Would it be all right, do you think, if we didn’t…” Aziraphale’s voice trailed off. He wasn’t certain how to ask _not_ to have sex, instead wanting to just keep being held like this for as long as he could be.

Crowley squeezed him tighter, understanding in spite of the lack of words. He nodded his head, still wrapped and pressed fully skin to skin against Aziraphale from head to toe. “Goodnight, Angel.”

“You truly are quite a wonderful friend,” Aziraphale said, running fingers through Crowley’s hair.

Under normal circumstances, an admission like that might have found Crowley a bit melancholy, but not tonight. Tonight, Crowley realized, a friend was exactly what Aziraphale _needed_. There would be no artifice, no ulterior motive, no hidden agenda, other than the very basic, the very _human_ , concept of reaching out to each other. What Aziraphale needed now was just someone to _accept_ him, _acknowledge_ him, and _be_ there. Crowley was _thrilled_ to be that source of comfort for his angel.

Crowley felt as much as he heard Aziraphale’s stomach growl beneath him.

“Actually,” Aziraphale began, “I _am_ a bit peckish. Perhaps I might like to try one of those lovely biscuits you made after all.”

Crowley beamed as he jumped up to go fetch them.

Crowley sauntered into the bookshop, arraigning his angles and corners in such a way as to appear casual as he leaned against the counter in front of Aziraphale.

“Not that I’m complaining, of course, but what are you doing here?” Aziraphale asked.

“I suddenly find myself with nothing to do. Come over to mine?”

“Oh?” Aziraphale queried, looking puzzled. “You’re usually busy on Wednesday afternoons. Did something happen?”

“My cooking class was cancelled for today.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed. “You haven’t actually _mentioned_ a cooking class before.”

“Oh, yeah,” Crowley said casually, as if it hadn’t even _occurred_ to him that Aziraphale didn’t _already_ know. “I’m taking a cooking class. Today was supposed to be Pad Thai and, uh… Something about sides and garnish. These new instructors are a bit strange, but I’ve heard those two are the best ones they’ve got.”

“How long have you been taking this class?”

 _Ever since you came back into my life and it occurred to me that I could be responsible for pulling those delectable sounds from your throat,_ Crowley thought. _The way you savor each bite is **sinful**_. “Not long, really.” Crowley answered. “Maybe a few months?” Okay, so it was more like a series of professional and amateur culinary courses taken one after the next over the past year. No need to go into that, really.

“I can hardly believe I didn’t notice you were taking a cooking class. I just assumed it was work related.”

“Nobody’s going to notice anything off about me being busy on Wednesdays afternoons. It’s reality, Angel.” Crowley reassured him. _And I’ve been learning to cook things you like, whether you knew it or not,_ Crowley thought to himself.

Aziraphale’s palm covered his face. “This is why you always want to do a shop and try something different to cook on Wednesdays,” Aziraphale said with a laugh.

Crowley simply grinned.

After lunch, the two returned to Crowley’s flat. They had been sitting on the couch for several minutes of doing nothing in particular when Crowley’s voice broke through the silence.

“I’m bored,” Crowley said. “Transcendentally bored.” He leaned his head against the back of the couch with a disgusted sigh.

“Did you want to play cards?” Aziraphale suggested.

Crowley’s lip curled up in a sneer as he shook his head. “Nah, not really.”

“What about a movie?”

“Mmm…” Crowley considered. “Nothing sounds good right now.

They stared at the ceiling for a few minutes.

“I suppose,” Aziraphale began, turning his head to face Crowley, “We _could_ …” His voice trailed off.

Crowley blinked a few times, considering, as his head lolled over to face Aziraphale. His eyebrow and lip lifted slightly with a shrug of his shoulders. “Yeah, okay, I suppose,” he said, leaning forward to stand up. “Yeah, we could do that.” Crowley extended his hand towards Aziraphale. “Come on, then. Might as well be comfortable about it.”

Aziraphale let out a low, throaty laugh, but took Crowley’s hand to stand and follow him into the bedroom.

“Those are new,” Aziraphale said as he pulled Crowley’s trousers down to reveal brilliantly crimson thigh high stockings.

Crowley blushed. “I, y-yeah,” he said. “Thought I might like to add a pop of color now and then.

“They’re quite lovely,” Aziraphale said, running his hands up and down Crowley's legs. “I think you should leave them on.”

“Yeah?” Crowley asked, smiling as his head popped up to look at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale nodded, removing the rest of Crowley’s clothes as he did so. Aziraphale smiled as he looked down at the small scar on the right side of Crowley’s lower abdomen. He traced his fingers along it.

“Why do you do that?” Crowley asked, watching him.

“Do what?”

“Focus on my scar.”

“It’s adorable,” Aziraphale replied, pressing a soft kiss against it.

Crowley scoffed. “ _Nothing_ about me is adorable.”

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale smirked. “Whatever you say.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale for a moment. “You’ve named it, haven’t you.”

Aziraphale paused, a sheepish grin passing across his face. “Possibly.”

“Right,” Crowley laughed. “ _Of course,_ you have. All right, out with it.”

There was a pause. “Arthur.”

Crowley’s face broke into an astonished grin. “Really? Why?”

Aziraphale looked up with a smirk. “Because it’s a Dent.”

Crowley let out a bark of laughter. “You’ve named my appendectomy scar _Arthur Dent_?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale grinned, pressing his face into Crowley’s stomach to hide his blushing grin.

“That’s ridiculous. That is _bloody_ _ridiculous_. It’s just a, a _scar_. It’s not even one of the cool, dangerous ones blokes brag about in the pub. Just a routine surgical scar.”

Aziraphale lifted his head, looking sweetly at the divot in Crowley’s skin. “You don’t listen to _him_ , Arthur,” he said, pressing lips against it once more. “You listen to _me_.”

Crowley’s head dropped back down on the pillow, at a loss for words. “You are ridiculous. I don’t even know why I’m still talking to you.”

“Frankly, neither do I,” Aziraphale said with a grin as he crawled back up over Crowley, bringing their lips together in a quick kiss as he grabbed the towel next to the pillow.

“At least I know where my towel is,” Crowley grinned.

Aziraphale scrunched his nose. “Jolly good. Let’s put it to proper use.”

Though it hadn’t necessarily been the intention at first, Crowley once again found himself on his back with his legs wrapped around Aziraphale’s waist. Aziraphale thrusted inside of him slowly, but firmly as he leaned down to bring their lips together in a kiss. Before he could get that far, however, they both felt a shift on the bed that neither of them made.

Figgs stood at the foot of the bed, lit up by the late afternoon sunlight filtering in past the plants in the window by the headboard

“Ugh, I forgot and left the bedroom door open,” Crowley said as the large cat sauntered vaguely headward along the mattress. “I’m a bit busy at the moment,” he hissed at the cat. Figgs kneaded the pillow Crowley’s head was on. The cat turned around to flop down unceremoniously along Crowley’s head, tail whipping across his nose and mouth. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Figgs, get _out_ ,” Crowley whined against the onslaught of a furry flogging.

Aziraphale grinned wickedly with a quick pulse of his hips. “I don’t mind if he wants to watch.”

_WHAP!_

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale in semi-repugnance while still trying to dodge the thrashing cat tail in his face. “Ugh, how is that so weird and so hot at the same time?”

_WHAP!_

“Figgs, I swear to _someone_ I will launch you across this room,” Crowley sputtered, waving his hand in an attempt to block the feline assault.

“You’ll do no such thing!” Aziraphale admonished.

“No,” Crowley groaned, “I _won’t_. But don’t tell _him_ that.”

Figgs, otherwise unbothered, sat up to lick his hypotenuse. Conveniently pointed towards Crowley’s face as it was, the cat headbutted Crowley’s cheek with each pass of its tongue along its fur.

Aziraphale shook with silent laughter atop Crowley.

Crowley huffed out an annoyed sigh. “Could you _please_ stop laughing and fucking me long enough for me to do something with this blasted cat?”

“I’m not entirely certain that I can,” Aziraphale laughed. “Might I just pick one of the two?”

“All right,” Crowley whined. “ _Everyone_ get off of me, right now!”

Aziraphale, still laughing, rolled off of Crowley and moved over to his side so he could sit up. Aziraphale lay back on the pillows, only barely giggling while he watched with delighted amusement as Crowley managed to stand on wobbly legs and carry Figgs out of the bedroom.

Crowley’s voice echoed as he moved down the hallway. “Figgs, what the actual fuck? I was getting dicked-down properly.”

Aziraphale snorted with laughter, trying not to be too loud.

“This is a cock-block, do you realize that?” Crowley continued. “I thought we were _friends_.”

Aziraphale gave up any pretense of holding his laughter in, just letting it all out.

“You’re a _menace_ , you feline pervert,” Crowley said with a laugh.

Aziraphale laughed harder at the sound of Crowley’s squeal. “My penis is not a toy for you!”

Aziraphale covered his mouth, shoulders shaking and eyes closed as he somehow managed to squeak through his nose.

“It belongs to the angel in my bed, so shove off,” Crowley said in a quieter voice.

In spite of this, Aziraphale still heard it. Quieting down almost immediately, Aziraphale’s cock twitched. Crowley’s words had hit something primal and raw within him.

Aziraphale very much wanted what was _his_.

Aziraphale sat up in the bed as Crowley carefully slipped back through the bedroom door, being certain to close it behind himself.

“Well, I suppose that killed the mood,” Crowley said, banging his forehead lightly against the closed bedroom door.

Aziraphale quickly got up from the bed and stepped behind him, pressing his still-erect hardness against Crowley’s backside. “That depends,” Aziraphale said as he ran his palms up Crowley’s sides and across his stomach. “Because with your permission, I’d still _very much_ like to finish what we started.”

“You still want to?”

“My dear,” Aziraphale breathed hotly against Crowley’s ear as he pressed his body firmly against Crowley’s back, nudging Crowley’s legs apart with a knee, “Unless you say no, if you don’t get back in that bed right now, I’m going to have no choice but to fuck you against your bedroom wall.”

Crowley leaned his head back on Aziraphale’s shoulder, shivering between the cool press of the wall against his chest and the heat radiating off of the angel at his back. Still slick and open from where they had stopped only a few minutes prior, Crowley pushed back against Aziraphale to take him inside once again. “Is that so?”

Aziraphale groaned softly against Crowley’s ear as he reached around to take Crowley’s cock in his left hand. “I simply desire to possess that which is _mine_ ,” he said, squeezing his hand and snapping his hips for emphasis.

Crowley gasped loudly at the sensation, palms suddenly flat against the wall in front of him. “Oh, you heard that, did you?”

Aziraphale exhaled loudly and slowly against the back of Crowley’s ear as he leisurely pulled his hips back, sliding his cock almost, but not quite, out. “I did. And I’m glad I did.”

Crowley felt the slowly spreading grin on Aziraphale’s lips as he pressed them against the delicate skin behind his ear.

“Will you allow me to _take_ what’s _mine_?”

Aziraphale slammed his hips forward, causing Crowley to bark out a bitten off expletive of affirmation before a strong hand covered his mouth. “Shh, shh, my dear. Hush now, I’ve got you.” He stroked in and out slowly a few times. Aziraphale’s right hand covered Crowley’s mouth, holding Crowley’s head back against his shoulder. Aziraphale breathed hot and heavy against the side of Crowley’s throat.

“I think, in addition to this lovely cock between your legs,” Aziraphale whispered as he squeezed firmly while sliding his hand up and down Crowley’s erection to emphasize his words, “Every sound I pull from those luscious lips of yours belongs to _me_ ,” Aziraphale growled, the rumble in his voice vibrating all the way into Crowley’s back, “And I’m feeling particularly _greedy_.”

Aziraphale’s hand slid from Crowley’s mouth to hold him by the throat. Not hard enough to hurt or choke, but firmly enough to hold Crowley’s head in place while Aziraphale fucked into him over and over.

“Who does this cock belong to, Crowley?”

“It’s _yours_ ,” Crowley choked out in a gasp. “It’s all yours.”

 _Every part of me is yours_ , Crowley thought _._

“ _Mine_ ,” Aziraphale repeated. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back as his hips began a steadier rhythm between them. Slowly, the hand on Crowley’s throat slid down to wrap possessively around his chest while the hand on his cock reached up to hold Crowley’s hand on the wall.

_I wish you really **were** mine_, Aziraphale thought bitterly as he leaned forward and pressed his temple against Crowley’s cheek _. I want so much more than just your body._

Aziraphale pressed further up against Crowley, essentially pinning him to the wall as the continued to thrust. _You pretend so sweetly for me,_ he thought.

“I want what’s mine, Crowley,” Aziraphale growled through the teeth grazing Crowley’s shoulder. “Give me what no one else may have,” Aziraphale said, feeling Crowley shiver beneath him. “Give me your sounds, Crowley, or I’ll _take_ them from you one by one,” he said, growing more frantic with his movements. “I want your whispers in the shadows and your screams in the light.”

“Angel!” Crowley shouted as Aziraphale nudged his legs open wider to thrust deeper still.

Aziraphale’s words turned into ragged, loud breaths as he crowded Crowley further against the wall.

“Oh, fuck, oh fuck, _oh fuck_ ,” Crowley breathed harshly, perfectly timed to each full-bodied thrust from behind him. At the same time, his thoughts raced wildly. _He wants me, he wants me, he **wants** me, I’m his, he can have me, and he **wants** me. It’s okay if he doesn’t love me because he **wants** **me**._

As Aziraphale built up into a faster rhythm, Crowley matched thrust for thrust with quiet grunts and gasps, just for Aziraphale to hear, _only_ for Aziraphale. At the same time, Crowley’s inner voice repeated a mantra with every gently forceful thump of his head against the wall.

_It’s enough, it’s enough, it’s enough. It has to be **enough**._

Crowley’s orgasm hit him unprepared as he was pressed so forcefully against the wall over and over again. His entire body tightened and jerked, fluttering like a butterfly pinned.

The tight tension around Aziraphale’s cock, combined by the beautiful sounds Crowley made for him, sent Aziraphale into a frenzy, chasing his own climax the last few steps of the way. He pulled Crowley closer to himself, holding tightly as he unloaded into him.

Crowley’s legs, in their weak and wobbly state, started to tremble beneath him. He wasn’t falling so much as sliding vaguely downwards along the wall when strong, warm arms wrapped tighter around him, lifting him back up.

“I’ve got you,” Aziraphale panted out in a whisper, pressing a gentle kiss into his hair. He guided the two of them carefully over to the bed, allowing Crowley to flop down before crawling in beside him, pulling him to his chest.

“I do believe,” Aziraphale panted, “That’s the sort of thing that some people need to smoke after,” he laughed.

It took a few minutes for Crowley’s brain to catch up to the conversation, what with having been so thoroughly fucked _out_ of his head and then fucked back _into_ it again.

“If you’re serious, there’s a half-pack in the freezer. Just, you know, step out on the balcony if you do,” Crowley said. “I don’t want the smell in the walls, and it’s bad for Figgs to be around it. Bad for cats in general. Not that it’s particularly _healthy_ to humans, mind, but it’s _specifically_ toxic to cats.”

“You smoke?”

“Eh,” Crowley whined, tilting his head back and forth. “N-not as much as I _used_ to. While back, I was at a pack or so a day. Nowadays, a pack lasts me probably two months or better. That’s why I keep the pack in the freezer, so they don’t go stale. More likely to smoke more of them if I have to buy a fresh pack every time I want one or two.”

“When did you _slow down_ , as it were?”

 _After I found you again_ , Crowley thought. “After we crossed paths again,” Crowley said out loud, wincing internally. Scrambling, he came up with, what he thought, was an excellent cover that was just flirty enough to keep things fun. “You know, what with all the dopamine involved in sex and all that. You get that from the cigarettes, too, but I like fucking a _lot_ more than I like smoking.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Harder to do on a pavement, though.”

Crowley grinned, rolling over to climb on top of Aziraphale, sliding long, lean limbs around the angel as he nuzzled into his neck. “Is that a challenge?”

“Are you seriously ready to go again?” Aziraphale asked incredulously. "Because I'm _not._ "

“Oh, _fuck_ no,” Crowley said with a laugh. “The way you fucked me just now, I probably,” he scoffed, looking at the spot on the wall that _desperately_ needed to be wiped up when his legs were steadier, shaking his head. “I don’t know if I’ll be ready to go again _this_ _week_.” Crowley grinned, looking down at Aziraphale. “But I am _always_ going to be ready to kiss you,” he said, leaning down to bring their lips together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to start doing smaller, more manageable chapters (like this, but might be a little bit shorter or longer depending on what is happening) for a few reasons. One, as you may have noticed from this chapter, there are some plot details that I don't want to be lost in a super-detail-crammed chapter. Another is that I'd rather get something published than sit on a bunch of it when I've got multiple projects to work on (not just in GO stuff, but that whole being an adult in the real world thing) like the previous chapter. I didn't like having to wait so long to finish up that chapter at all, not when I could have posted something shorter in the interim and still have the rest posted at that time.
> 
> And reason C, I'm currently working on 6 WIPs, though only 4 are currently publishing. I'm working on the third installment of _Celestial Spektors_ , which has been on hiatus all year, and also eager to get back into _Music and Manuscripts: Soothe The Savage Beast_ so I can tie it back into the main story and then start publishing _Music and Manuscripts: Ciribiribin_. I am also writing on my next Human AU for when _Finders, Keepers_ finishes, called _O, Fortuna!_
> 
> Anyway, long story short, I'll be doing more focused chapters as they're ready going forward. I have several art pieces planned as well as a lot more information to cover before this story is done, and I already have something in the pipeline for after.


	12. A Gay-Christmas Carol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghosts of the past, present, and possible future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: a couple of asshole exes, mentions of children being kicked out of their homes, and the inference of domestic abuse, though not explicitly stated or described.

Aziraphale sat back, sliding the tip of his tongue along his back teeth as he thought. He exhaled slowly through his nose, watching Crowley carefully before he spoke. “It’s been a year, hasn’t it?”

Crowley’s eyebrows lifted questioningly. “What’s that?” He hummed out as he brought his prosecco to his lips.

“It’s been a year since you stumbled out from behind those bookshelves and back into my life.”

“Has it?” Crowley asked casually, knowing full well it was a year to the exact date on the calendar. “How _interesting_.”

Aziraphale snorted a small laugh. “You are up to no good.”

“Obviously,” Crowley replied. “But you’ve known that for at least a year now,” he said, reaching down beside him to pull his leather satchel into his lap.

“What’s this?” Aziraphale asked.

“I simply wanted to thank you for being a friend,” Crowley grinned. “We’ve traveled down the road and back again, after all.”

Aziraphale stared at him from across the table. _Friend_ , he thought. _It’s a good thing. I’m glad we’re friends, but…_

“Your heart is true. You’re a pal and a confidant.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes as recognition hit. “That’s the Golden Girls theme.”

Crowley quacked out a loud, delighted laugh as he nodded. “I realize it’s not a particularly _large_ gift, but as there are no others on this table, it does _technically_ qualify as the _biggest_ gift,” Crowley grinned as he placed a gold papered package tied with a tartan ribbon on the table. The card attached read, _Thank You for Being A Friend._

“Oh, _Crowley_ , you didn’t need to do that,” Aziraphale said with a look of excitement in his eye. “But I’m ever so glad you did.”

“Are we feeling a bit greedy tonight, Angel?” Crowley grinned temptingly, sliding the box closer to him.

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale laughed. “That’s not it at all. I’m glad because it makes _this_ a bit less awkward,” he said, pulling a small black box with a red velvet ribbon out of his coat pocket and placing it on the table. “I know how you are about accepting gifts, but as soon as I saw it, I _knew_ you needed to have it.”

Crowley looked between the two boxes on the table, then back at Aziraphale, tilting his head to the side with a smirk. “Well, then,” he said. “It would appear you have me over a barrel.”

“I’ll have you in more ways than that before the night is over,” Aziraphale said, scrunching his nose up. “But yes, I do believe you’re correct. Open it.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in protest. “I gave you yours first.”

“Is it a puppy?”

“What kind of question is that?” Crowley asked, looking at Aziraphale with confusion. “Does it _look_ like a puppy?”

“If it doesn’t need to breathe, and it doesn’t feel cold or hot to the touch, it will keep,” Aziraphale said, settling back in his chair. “I’m not opening mine until after you open yours. Open the box, Crowley.”

Crowley groaned. “Fine,” he said, reaching for the hinged box. “Ooh, that ribbon is nice. I like that,” he said, rubbing it between his fingers. “It’s not paper.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “I rather thought it might be quite fetching in your hair or tied around your lovely throat.”

“Hmm,” Crowley hummed with a smile, untying the ribbon from the box and reaching up to tie it around his neck, twisting the knot towards the back of his collar. He unbuttoned another button to open up the front of his dark red shirt a bit, blousing it out to lay the collar out on the lapel of his black embroidered jacket. “How’s that?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale tilted his head to the side to get a better look. “Marvelous.”

Crowley smiled, picking the box up once more. He held it in one hand, prying it open with the other. Upon looking inside, his brows lifted and his jaw dropped. “Angel, where did you _find_ this?” Crowley said, reverently lifting the Montblanc Carlo Collodi Pinocchio Fountain Pen from its lined box.

Aziraphale grinned cheekily. “Picked it up in Edinburgh last time I was there.”

“I didn’t see this on the list or I would have asked for it,” Crowley said quietly as he opened the cap to get a better look at it.

“I _know_.” Aziraphale’s eyes flashed with mischief. “They listed several Montblanc sets, but did not specify the designs. It wasn’t until I looked at them up close that I knew what was in that lot, and that it was something you didn’t have. Now how often do you think an opportunity like that comes up?”

Crowley grinned. “I think you’ll find I asked myself the same question once you open what I’ve brought for you.”

As difficult as it was to tear his eyes away from the details of the pen, Crowley focused on watching as Aziraphale carefully untied the ribbon on the box before lifting the top.

“It’s a book,” Aziraphale said.

“Ah, I anticipated you’d be clever enough to cotton on to that,” Crowley laughed. “Turn it over.”

Aziraphale picked up the old book, flipping it over to read the cover. His breath caught in his throat momentarily.

“This is Winnie the Pooh.”

Crowley’s face was lit up in excitement. “Not only is it Winnie the Pooh, but it is a _first edition_. But that isn’t even the _best_ part.”

“It isn’t?” Aziraphale asked.

“There were some copies that were in better condition, and if you like, I’ll get them for you, too. But there’s something special about this copy. Open the cover, Angel.”

Aziraphale was dumbfounded as he lifted open the cover with a gasp.

Crowley was delighted by Aziraphale’s reaction. “Once I saw that inscription, I knew this book was _meant_ for you.”

Crowley bit his bottom lip as he watched Aziraphale’s fingers delicately trace along the writing on the inside of the cover.

> **_For Aziraphale,  
>  A. A. Milne_ **

“He usually only ever signed his name,” Aziraphale said quietly, unable to look away from the words on the page.

“I had it verified by a few experts. That’s Milne’s handwriting. The person who originally owned this book all those decades ago was _also_ named Aziraphale. Can you believe that? Bit of a miracle, really.”

Aziraphale looked from the book up to Crowley’s smiling face. “Take me back to yours. _Now_.”

After one of the most satisfying and enthusiastic sexual encounters they had had together, Aziraphale held Crowley in his lap. Feeling both open and vulnerable, yet safe at the same time, Crowley decided to tell Aziraphale more about his reasons for staying away from Edinburgh.

“That’s—"

“N-Niccolo, but everybody called him Nickie-Ben,” Crowley confirmed. “Yeah. I uh, I had been struggling for a few weeks by the time he found me.”

“Struggling?” Aziraphale asked gently, rubbing soothing circles along Crowley’s waist and back. “How do you mean?”

Crowley leaned his head back to savor the feel of Aziraphale’s touch for a moment before answering. “Fell in with some lads who had run off from home or been kicked out just as I was. I picked up a few bad habits from them, as well as some survival skills.” Crowley laughed bitterly. “Eventually, it was just me left on my own. They all got picked up, one by one, for the stuff we did.”

“Surely a group of unattended children wouldn’t have gone without notice. No one ever said anything?”

Crowley cringed. “Nobody noticed anything. It’s reality, Angel. People don’t like to think about that sort of thing, hungry and homeless outcasts, and often look the other way instead.”

“What about the authorities?”

“Usually, when one of that lot got picked up, they’d come back in a few days or a week or two. Loyal bunch. We took care of one another. Nobody ever told where the rest of us were. If asked, they’d just not talk…” Crowley’s expression darkened as his voice trailed off.

“What happened, Crowley?” Aziraphale prodded gently, arms circling protectively around Crowley’s back.

“There was one particularly _stupid_ thing they did, breaking into a pub. I stayed behind. I didn’t have much use for things I couldn’t sell or eat.” Crowley’s eyes cast downward. “Nobody came back from that one.”

Crowley sighed, lifting his face back up into a strained smile. “Apparently, my survival skills were the best, because I was the only one of that lot who never got caught. Well, almost never, anyway,” Crowley huffed. ”After a couple of months completely on my own, Nickie-Ben caught me pickpocketing. I thought he was going to turn me over to the authorities, or _worse_ , but he didn’t.” Crowley shifted in Aziraphale’s lap, searching for a comfort he couldn’t define.

“What happened after that?” Aziraphale asked when Crowley had gone quiet.

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale. “You _really_ want to hear this story?”

“If you’d like to tell it, yes,” Aziraphale said gently.

“Right.” Crowley bit his bottom lip nervously. “He, uh, he asked me if I was hungry, which I _was_ , and I told him so. Gave me a hot meal.” Crowley sighed. “You know me, always questioning everything, right? I get into trouble asking questions. That’s how I ended up out on the street to begin wi—”

“ _You_ didn’t do that, Crowley, _your parents_ did.”

“Eh,” Crowley grunted. “Agree to disagree. Regardless, I hadn’t done myself any favors asking questions in the old days.”

Aziraphale exhaled loudly through his nose in irritation, but decided not to keep pushing on that while Crowley was both raw and open. He wanted to comfort Crowley and help him realize he deserved better than he had been given. Arguing right now might not have quite the effect he intended.

“Anyway, uh, he… He told me people just didn’t appreciate a _talent_ like mine.” Crowley shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting that. He told me he saw great things in my future, and that he’d take care of me to make sure they happened.”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley closer, running a hand through his hair as he guided his head onto his shoulder. “And that sounded appealing, because you wanted someone to take care of you,” he said, understanding.

“Y-yeah,” Crowley confirmed. “I was tired of being alone and scared. I was tired of constantly looking over my shoulder, or wondering how I’d obtain my next meal.” Crowley tightened his grip around Aziraphale. “He brought me home, gave me a bed and a seat at the table. There were a couple of others there, too, a little older than me. He sent us out most nights to different areas, sometimes pickpocketing, sometimes breaking and entering. Mostly individuals, but sometimes we hit up businesses, too.”

Crowley buried his face into Aziraphale’s neck. “Once he saw I was pretty good at finding buyers for some of the harder to sell stuff, Nickie took me off of the actual burglary and put me on sourcing buyers.”

“At least you weren’t putting yourself at risk anymore,” Aziraphale said.

“Oh, don’t be mistaken. There was still risk. Any potential buyer could have been some sort of undercover agent, or just someone trying to nick whatever it was I was selling to sell for themselves.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Crowley shrugged. “Between what Nickie taught me and my own natural aptitude for sourcing needs out, over the years I got even better. But as I saw the others age out and get replaced, I was still there.”

“Age out?” Aziraphale asked.

“Eh, yeah. He, uh, Nickie, he made a name for himself as a bit of a foster hero. Taking in wild and untamable criminal kids that no one else wanted. Pillar of the community, he was. Whenever someone saw one of his kids getting into trouble, they just called him and didn’t bother calling the police. What they _didn’t_ know was that he was the one _teaching_ us how to do these things, and his little rehabilitation program was just a way to find marks.”

“What did he do when someone called him?”

“That really depended on how and why they were caught doing whatever it was. If they got caught for one thing, but had done something bigger, well, Nickie liked that. That was an alibi. He encouraged that. Why get into trouble for something big if you could implicate yourself in something small that happened at the same time? That was rewarded. That, and keeping schtum about the whole thing.”

“What about the other times?”

Crowley shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about that.

“All right,” Aziraphale said, gently. “Could you tell me why he kept you around longer?”

“He wouldn’t let me leave. I made him so much money over the years, and he wouldn’t let me go. But he taught me too well. He didn’t realize that while I was out sourcing buyers, I was also pulling a few of my own jobs on the side. He didn’t know how much I had stashed back, hidden in a few spots so he couldn’t find it over a couple of years.” Crowley sighed, leaning back to look at Aziraphale. “Eventually, I came up with a plan to escape.”

Aziraphale’s hands came up to hold Crowley’s face as he pressed their lips together. “You’re so clever,” he whispered.

Crowley closed his eyes. He licked his lips and sighed before he continued. “I, uh, I told him it was going to be a couple of days to get things together for one of the larger sales, and that I’d go on ahead, but he’d need to get everything together to bring it to the location the next night. Told him I’d bring the buyer the morning after, to give them time to get things set up.” He opened his eyes, locking his gaze on Aziraphale. “But it was all a lie to buy myself a couple of days travel time to leave the country.”

“And that’s when you came to London?”

“No, not immediately. I traveled around a bit. Got too scared to put down roots for too long, especially since I hadn’t quite gone legit yet. I was working towards it, of course. That was always the plan, that I’d make enough to start buying things legitimately and selling them properly for profit. Ended up in Italy for a while, though. Beautiful place, Angel. I’d like to take you there someday, now that you know. Show you some of my old haunts.”

Aziraphale smiled warmly at him. “I’d like that.”

Crowley looked up at him, eyes wide with hopeful trepidation. “Angel?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“Just so you know, I’m Anthony Jay Crowley _now_ , but I was born Anton John Crawley.”

Aziraphale wanted to bundle him up within a cocoon of protection, warmth, and compassion. Instead, he did what he could and held Crowley tighter, rocking him gently back and forth. “Thank you for telling me, but you didn’t have to,” Aziraphale said. _I’ll love you no matter what you call yourself_ , he thought, kissing Crowley’s forehead.

Crowley melted in Aziraphale’s embrace, settling down happily against his skin. “Wanted you to have that, to, uh, to _know_.” _One more part of me I wanted to give to you,_ Crowley thought.

**Do u know where  
Gay Christmas will  
be this year?**

**I do not, but I DO  
know that we are  
NOT hosting it at  
the bookshop this  
year.**

**They said they were  
sorry!**

**The entire section  
of Jeffrey Archer  
books was ruined. **

**It smelled for weeks.**

**U don’t even like  
Jeffrey Archer.**

**Which is why I  
don’t mind SELLING  
those. **

**It wasn’t THAT bad.**

**WEEKS, Gabriel.**

**WEEKS.**

**Besides, I have  
Cleo now. **

**I can’t let anything  
happen to her.**

**Let her stay the night  
with her OTHER daddy.**

**Figgs will eat her.**

**Besides, I’m also  
worried about the  
tank.**

**Crowley paid £4000  
for it.**

**U R SHITTING ME**

**I shitteth ye not.  
Robey asked me  
why a goldfish  
needed a £4000  
tank when he  
came by for that  
Terry Pratchett  
set you had.**

**Don’t you dare  
let Crowley know  
that I know.**

**Dude, fucking  
TALK to him.**

**I do talk to him.**

**Aziraphale.**

**Gabriel.**

**AZIRAPHALE!**

**WHAT?**

**Whatever. It’s  
not my place.  
B0ut 0ur fu0cking  
0st0upid.**

**Are you quite  
all right?**

**Spilled lemonade.  
Had to wipe off  
my screen.**

**But my point  
remains. U R  
fucking stupid.**

**I shall endeavor to  
take your valuable  
opinion under  
consideration.**

**_Captain Squarejaw  
sent a video  
eyeroll.mp4_ **

**You could have just  
sent an emoji. I know  
what you look like  
when you do that.**

**Emojis lack verve.**

**Did U invite him?**

**I haven’t.**

**I plan to.**

**Let me know what  
you find out.**

**I will. Love you.**

**Love you, too.**

**See how easy  
that is to say  
when you care  
about someone?**

**TELL HIM.**

**We’re not having  
this conversation  
over text.**

**_One missed call from  
_** **_Captain Squarejaw_**

**So sorry. I couldn’t  
get to the phone in  
time to answer.**

**I hate you so much.**

**Gonna grab coffee  
before I head over.  
Need anything?**

**A pumpkin spice  
latte.**

**You basic bitch.**

**It isn’t for me.**

**OoòooOooh.  
** **Tell Crowley he’s  
** **a basic bitch.**

**I already did, but  
thank you for the  
validation. **

Halloween night, aka Gay Christmas, had finally arrived. Crowley, decked out in skin-tight flare-bottomed trousers, platform shoes, sauntered into the semi-crowded banquet hall. The gold chains and medallions he wore were visible against the bit of bare chest peeking through the half-way buttoned butterfly-collared loud-patterned silk shirt. His face was nearly hidden by large sunglasses and a mustache that would make a lesser person wild with jealousy. Flipping his expertly feathered hair out of his face, Crowley surveyed the crowd, looking around for familiar people.

There was a group of men that Crowley recognized from one of the auction houses. They had delivered several of his acquisitions in the past. They were blowing up pairs of balloons to tie together, loading them into a long net. One of the balloons had begun to drift off.

“Oi, Shem!” Crowley called out. “That unicorn’s gonna make a run for it,” he said as a gust of wind from the entrance doors opening pushed it further up towards the ceiling. “It’s too late,” he called back again. “Well, you’ve still got one of ‘em.”

When Crowley turned around, he stumbled, grabbing both the back of a folding chair and his stomach as he began to laugh when he realized it was Gabriel who was walking over.

“What are _you_ supposed to be?” Crowley managed to squeak out.

Gabriel looked down at his bright lime-green spandex full-body leotard, causing the variegated pink petals around his face to rustle before looking back at Crowley with confusion. “I’m a pansy,” Gabriel said, as if that were very fairly obvious given his costume.

“Yes, but he wants to know your _costume_ ,” Bea said as she wiggled the pointed stinger on her yellow and black striped bum to bump into her husband, shaking her head so her antennae bobbed up and down.

Crowley quacked and gasped, finally succumbing to the need to sit down.

“Calm down there, Pornstache,” Gabriel said, holding his hand up. “You haven’t seen Aziraphale yet.”

Aziraphale was over by one of the long, festively-decorated refreshment tables. He flipped the edge of his cloak back over his shoulder to free up his arm, then poured himself a cup of some sort of green punch, smoking from what he assumed to be bits of dry ice. He brushed the fluffy long curls out of his face and behind the prosthetic point of his ear, having not straightened his hair for tonight, took out the fake plastic teeth he was wearing, and took a drink.

“Hey, Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale turned around to see a man in silver armor and a fur cloak.

“Nice costume.”

Aziraphale couldn’t quite place the voice, as it was muffled somewhat by the man’s visor.

“Oh, sorry!” The man said, flipping his visor up.

“Oh, Arthur! Yes, sorry. I didn’t recognize you at first. That is an impressive suit of armor.”

“Thanks! The husband is around here somewhere. He’s dressed to match, but his armor is black.” Arthur leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “We’re on opposite sides! Isn’t it a hoot?”

“That _does_ sound like fun,” Aziraphale said, glancing about quickly to see if he could find Arthur’s husband, Gwynn, in the crowd of costumes.

“How did you convince your partner to dress to match you?” Arthur asked. “Can’t really picture Crowley as a hobbit. Or did he come as an elf?”

“What?”

“Crowley’s costume. Middle Earth doesn’t seem like his style.” Arthur grinned. “What am I saying? You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger. Of course, he’d come dressed in nothing but a sock if _you_ asked.”

“I, um, I don’t actually _know_ what he’s coming as. And he’s not my partner.”

Arthur’s face fell. “Oh, but you two were so _good_ together. Everyone thinks so. What happened?” He asked sympathetically.

Aziraphale’s brows knit together in irritation. “We never _were_ together. We’re _friends_.”

“Oh,” Arthur said uncomfortably. “My mistake. Sorry about that,” he said, waving into the crowd. “Look, I have to go. I just spotted Gwynn. Talk later?”

Aziraphale nodded with a half-smile, watching the knight in shining armor mill about in the crowd. After drinking the last of the punch in his cup, he put his teeth back in and began to walk around.

Spotting the cloud-stuff that was Aziraphale’s current hairstyle, Crowley began to jog towards him. “Angel!” He called out.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, spitting a little around the plastic teeth.

Crowley stopped mid stride, the widening of his eyes visible even behind his dark glasses. “What… What’s happening right there?” Crowley asked, pointing his finger in a tight circle to indicate Aziraphale’s mouth. “What are you supposed to be?”

“I’m a Hobbit.”

“You’re _not_.”

“Yeth, I am.”

Crowley’s cheeks strained painfully against the smile that crept upwards at the sound of the lisp. “Oh, oh, no,” he laughed. “No, no no. I can’t.”

“Thith ith my cothtume, Crowley. And jutht what are you thuppotht to be? Thome thort of thexthy theventieth thiren?”

“Oh, my fucking Jesus on a bicycle,” Crowley was laughing so hard he had gone silent and near hyperventilation as his chest heaved. “Say that again. Oh, please. I will _pay_ you to say that exact phrase again. I want to record it and use it as a ringtone. Name your price, Angel.”

“I habe no brice. You cannot bay me to thbeak.”

Crowley dissolved into laughter once again. Aziraphale stood there, arms crossed over his broad chest, waiting for Crowley to calm down enough to hold some semblance of a civil conversation.

“Okay, I can accept that for the sideburns,” Crowley said, wiping his eyes and stretching his face as the last of his laughter settled down, “But what Hobbit wears teeth like that?”

“Franthith.”

“Franthith?”

“No, not Franthith. _Franthith_!” Aziraphale repeated.

“Francis? Oh, the OC from that fic you were telling me about?”

“Yeth,” Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley’s head cocked to the side with a fond grin. “While I find it _extremely_ endearing that you’re as into fanfiction as you are your other books, those teeth are as ridiculous as _you_ are.”

“I think they’re whimthical,” Aziraphale struggled to say through the fake plastic teeth.

“Take them out, please?”

“No. I like them.”

“There are plenty of Hobbits without those teeth.”

“And not one of them ith Franthith.

“Angel,” Crowley whined quietly.

“Take oph your muthathe, then,” Aziraphale said with difficulty.

“Wait, are you, are you trying to say mustache? No! My mustache is _integral_ to my costume.”

“It ithn’t.”

“It ith!” Crowley lisped back. “Shit,” he said, correcting himself. “It _is_ ,” he enunciated.

“There were blenty of beoble in the theventith without muthtathes.”

“And they were all the more pitiable because of it,” Crowley responded, shaking his head and lifting his brow to emphasize his point.

Aziraphale shrugged.

“Fine,” Crowley groaned. “You win. But, if you would possibly humor me, just for a moment,” Crowley grinned. “Say your name.”

“A—” Aziraphale began, stopping before the next sound came out of his mouth. He narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips as best he could around the buck teeth jutting out between them. “Phell,” he replied slowly and calmly.

Crowley smirked. “But that’s not how you spell it.”

"Oh, thut up."

Aziraphale saw a flash of peach and cream from across the room. He lifted his head up, tracking with his eyes until he found the object of his interest on the opposite side of the room, looking across a table full of baked goods. Aziraphale stood up to get a closer look.

The man seemed extremely focused on the different decorated cakes and treats spread out on the table and did not notice as Aziraphale approached.

“Excuse me,” Aziraphale said after removing his teeth to put in his pocket.

The man jumped in surprise, turning a wide honey-eyed stare at Aziraphale. He ran a lace-trimmed hand casually along the side of his short, twisted-out hair, jauntily parted on one side. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were standing there.”

“I should be apologizing to you,” Aziraphale said, flushing with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I only wanted to ask where you got such a beautiful costume.”

The man beamed blissfully. “My husband made it for me,” he said, running his hands up and down the cream-colored jacket.

Another man walked up, wearing a dark maroon jacket, black shirt and cravat, and what Aziraphale thought was an absolutely _ridiculous_ wig complete with a curl on top and either side, and a short ponytail at the nape of the neck. “Bought the stockings and shoes, though,” the man said with a grunt.

“Those shoes are incredible,” Aziraphale marveled, having just then gotten a good look at the shiny, satin pumps. “Oh! I’ve completely forgotten my manners. I’m Aziraphale,” he said, extending his hand.

“Lester,” the man said, accepting and shaking Aziraphale’s hand in return. “This is my husband, Henry,” he said, gesturing towards the man in the barrel-curl wig.

“You can call me Hank,” he said, also extending his hand.

Aziraphale shook it, looking back down at the shiny shoes. “How ever did you manage to get them to match everything so well?”

“He hand-dyed the shoes, stockings, and waistcoat,” Lester said with a gleam in his eye. “Tell him, Henry.”

Hank shrugged. “I hand-dyed the shoes, stockings, and waistcoat.”

“He even hand-stitched the lace in the collar,” Lester grinned.

Aziraphale took a closer look, nodding. “You can't get lace like that just anywhere.”

"Craftsmanship," Lester said, looking affectionately at Hank.

Crowley walked up. “Been looking all over for you, Angel.” He looked between Hank and Lester, blinking a few times. “Uh, hi, guys,” he said.

“Crowley,” Hank nodded.

Lester wiggled his fingers in a small wave.

“I didn’t know you all knew each other,” Crowley said, looking between the three of them.

“Oh, we’ve only just met. I was admiring Lester’s costume,” Aziraphale explained.

Crowley looked it up and down appraisingly. “It’s lovely,” he said. “Bit frilly, but in a _good_ way.”

Lester was almost radiating with incandescent, multi-colored joy.

Aziraphale turned to face Crowley. “How do _you_ all know one another?” He asked.

“Oh, right, uh,” Crowley said, rubbing the back of his neck. “These are my cooking class instructors.”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, brightening. “So, you two are the reason I get home-cooked gourmet meals on Wednesday nights.”

“Don’t say that,” Crowley said teasingly. “If they found out I cooked for an angel, they’d expect more out of me in class.”

“Surprised Mr. Slick over here learned anything at all,” Hank said, “As many times as he’s signed up.”

Crowley began a mild panic. Nothing particularly disastrous, but just enough to be suddenly slightly uncomfortable. He needed a distraction.

“Lester here specializes in baking,” Crowley said. “He does some amazing photorealistic cakes that look like other things.”

“That’s _his_ right arm over there on the table,” Hank said with pride, pointing to a gruesomely delightful red-velvet cake shaped to look like a severed arm.

“Well, _someone’s_ right arm, anyway,” Lester grinned.

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow and turned to Crowley. “Does that explain your Pinterest failure from a few weeks ago?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Crowley said, looking around.

“It looked _nothing_ like a duck, Crowley. It was more of a lump with angry frosting.”

“You still ate it,” Crowley said with a furrow of his brow.

“Obviously. It was _delicious_ , even if it looked like homemade sin.”

“Oh, that’s, that’s funny,” Crowley said with a curl of his lip.

“Well, it _was_ Devil’s food,” Aziraphale smirked.

“It was only Devil’s food because that’s your favorite,” Crowley said, tilting his head back and forth sarcastically.

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Crowley shrugged, looking away to hide his own smile. “Right,” he said, just as music began to play on the loudspeakers. “Oh, I love this song!”

Lester and Hank were already headed over to what had been established as the dancing area by masking tape and colorful spotlights around a few small disco balls when Crowley felt a tug at his elbow.

“C’mon. Aziraphale only knows the one dance that needs five people, but nobody else knows how to do it, and Gabe just _doesn’t_ dance,” Bea said. “You look like you don’t give a fuck. Come on, snake, let’s rattle.”

“What if I thought you meant the other thing and not a dancing invitation?”

Bea tugged his shirt collar down until they were eye to eye. “I’m not worried. I could take you.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, probably so,” he said as they went to join the rest of the people dancing.

Realizing that the sandals Aziraphale wore to give the illusion of furry topped feet wouldn’t be wise for dancing, given the potential for his toes being stepped on by an assortment of fancy footwear, Aziraphale elected to go sit with Gabriel at a table while Crowley and Bea went out to dance.

It had _nothing_ to do with what Bea had told Crowley.

Not _one_ thing.

And that was the story Aziraphale was sticking with.

Gabriel’s face twisted into a grimace as he watched Aziraphale take out his fake teeth and place them on a napkin next to his glass. “Why do you insist on wearing those?”

“Honestly, I got tired of them within the first 15 minutes of wearing them. I had planned to just take them out after showing him, initially, but after _talking_ with Crowley, I _think_ I’m still wearing them purely out of spite,” Aziraphale said.

“Ah,” Gabriel said, perking up. “Please, continue, then.”

Aziraphale laughed and leaned back in his chair to watch the spectacle unfolding before them.

Gabriel cringed as he watched Bea and Crowley out on the dance floor. “What do you suppose they’re doing?” He asked.

“ _Struggling_ , it would appear,” Aziraphale said, sipping his drink.

Gabriel snorted, looking back down at his own drink, swirling the ice around with the swizzle stick.

Bea walked over to the table as Crowley, Hank, and Lester spun and skipped happily around one of the support poles.

“You had enough dancing?” Gabriel asked, leaning forward to receive a kiss on the cheek.

“Nah,” she said. “They’ve got longer legs, though, so I’ve got to do about 33 percent more stepping to keep up. Just needed a little break for something to drink.”

Gabriel smiled, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he stood up, handed her his own drink, and then went to get them each a new one. Bea sat down in Gabriel’s chair to await his return.

“Aziraphale,” greeted a man wearing a sleek gold wool suit and trilby as he pulled up a chair and slid himself in between them, facing Aziraphale.

“ _Tony_ ,” Bea said with venom.

“ _Beatrix_ ,” Tony grunted with a dismissive wave, not actually turning around to acknowledge her. “Aziraphale, don’t tell me you’re still hanging around with _them_.”

“Don’t speak my name like that,” she said, kicking Tony’s chair. “The fuck do _you_ want, anyway?”

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business,” Tony said, scooting closer to Aziraphale. “You know I haven’t stopped thinking about you, don’t you Zira?”

“He doesn’t like to be called that,” Bea said loudly.

Crowley looked up from the dance floor upon hearing Bea’s angry voice. He stared at the slim man in the suit who kept scooting closer to Aziraphale. Crowley began to make his way over as Gabriel walked up to the table.

“What do you want, Tony?” Gabriel asked, placing the drinks on the table. “And who do you think you are?”

“I’m a gangster,” Tony said, “And anything else is between me and Zira.”

“I told you,” Bea said, “He doesn’t like it when you call him that.”

Tony finally turned around to acknowledge her. “Why don’t you buzz off with your little snapdragon?”

“He’s not a snapdragon, he’s a pansy,” Crowley said, walking up.

“And this pansy is _itching_ for another reason to kick your ass,” Gabe said. “Just say the word.”

“Everything all right over here, Angel?” Crowley asked, leaning against one side of Aziraphale’s chair while putting his hand on the back rest.

“Angel?” Tony sneered. “No, I don’t think so. Gwynn specifically told me you two weren’t together.”

“Oh, you can’t _possibly_ think he’d want you back after the bomb you dropped on him,” Bea growled as Gabriel pulled her back and stepped in between them.

“Actually, I think I need some air,” Aziraphale said quietly, looking at the floor as he attempted to stand up.

Both Tony and Crowley reached for him, but only Crowley made contact. Tony was doubled over suddenly, hobbling around.

“Oh, did I _accidentally_ step on your toes, Tony? I am _so_ sorry,” Gabriel said flatly. “These feet of mine are just so comically large,” he shrugged, pulling his head back with wide-eyed confusion. “It’s like they have a mind of their own,” he said, sitting down in the chair Tony had just vacated.

“Come on, Angel,” Crowley said quietly. “Let’s go get you sorted.”

Aziraphale nodded, allowing Crowley to guide him outside.

“I suppose you want me to tell you what that was all about,” Aziraphale said softly once they were out in the garden.

Crowley shook his head. “Doesn’t much look like something you’d want to talk about.”

“You’re correct in that assessment. Thank you,” Aziraphale whispered. “Not here, and not now, anyway. But suffice it to say, Tony is an ex of mine, and he was not particularly… _Kind_ to me.”

If Crowley wrapped an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder right then, Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind.

After a few minutes, they saw Tony hobbling as he walked towards the exit.

“Did you wanna maybe go back in, then?” Crowley asked, squeezing Aziraphale gently.

“Yes, thank you,” Aziraphale replied, taking Crowley’s hand to go back inside.

“Crowley!” Lester called out. “You’re back. Come dance with us.”

Aziraphale nodded. “You should go dance.”

“I don’t want to leave you by yourself,” Crowley said.

“I won’t be, don’t worry. Gabriel and Bea are there. And I like watching you make a fool of yourself.”

Crowley feigned indignant rage with a mock gasp.

“That right there, that’s why I do it,” Aziraphale said.  
“It’s worth the look on your face.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am, thank you. I’ll be all right. I want to watch you dance, please.”

Crowley smiled, brushing a light kiss along Aziraphale’s knuckles before trotting off to join Hank and Lester once more.

Once there was another break in the music, the three of them walked over to the refreshment table full of sweets where Aziraphale was having difficulty making a decision.

“See something you like, Angel?” Crowley asked, trying to figure out what Aziraphale was deciding between. He knew this game.

“I don’t know which macarons I want to try,” Aziraphale said. “I do hate to be greedy.”

“Seems simple enough,” Crowley said. “I don’t want an entire macaron of any flavor, just a bite. Could you humor me and eat the rest of the ones I get?”

Aziraphale cut a coy glance up to Crowley. “Well, when you put it that way, no one could possibly object if I were simply keeping your leftovers from going to waste.”

Crowley grinned. “What do you suggest I try first, Angel?”

Aziraphale selected a pale-yellow macaron. “This one looks promising,” he said, holding it up for Crowley to take a bite.

Crowley chewed it, moving it around on his tongue as his eyes looked back and forth, trying to formulate a decision. “I have no idea what that is, other than absolutely delicious. I couldn’t eat another bite of that one, though. Be a dear and finish it for me?”

Aziraphale laughed, popping the rest of the macaron in his own mouth.

To no one’s evident surprise, Aziraphale quite audibly enjoyed it.

“I believe you want this pink one next,” Aziraphale said, picking it up and pressing it between Crowley’s parted lips.

“Mmm,” Crowley hummed as he chewed. “Cherry.”

“Would you like another bite of this one?” Aziraphale asked.

“Absolutely not,” Crowley said. “It’s cherry. That’s one of your favorites,” he explained, taking it from Aziraphale and feeding it to him. They stood there at the table, feeding one another little bites, watching each other’s lips with an interest that didn’t just include treats.

“Aziraphale,” a man in a white robe with a crown of thorns walked up. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” he said, looking Crowley up and down appraisingly.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Jessie, this is Crowley. Crowley, Jessie.”

Crowley extended his hand out to shake, only to be spun around and pulled in unexpectedly close to the man.

“You look like you could tempt a person for 40 days and 40 nights,” Jessie purred, squeezing his arms around Crowley.

Both Crowley and Aziraphale’s eyes widened with shock, anger, and a few other things neither was prepared to explain to anyone else.

“Excuse me!” They both said simultaneously.

“Jessie’s drunk,” someone called out from behind them. Suddenly a mob surrounded them, pulling Jessie and Crowley apart. They carried Jessie away and hoisted him up on the stage, strapping him into a harness.

“Is this _normal_?” Crowley asked quietly as he watched the spectacle.

Aziraphale nodded. “For the past three years.”

“I suppose you’re going to smirk at the bastard,” Crowley whispered to Aziraphale.

“Smirk? Me?”

“Your lot put him up there,” Crowley said, nodding towards where Gabriel was holding the rope on a pulley while two other people were wrapping and knotting ropes to a tether.

“I’m not consulted on policy decisions, Crowley. Not since I swore off hosting Gay Christmas at the bookshop.”

“You hosted?” Crowley asked with surprise.

“Yes, and it was a _complete_ nightmare,” Aziraphale said, rolling his eyes.

“What’s the purpose of all that?” Hank asked as he and Lester stepped in next to them.

Aziraphale shook his head. “I have no idea. Jessie simply ends up drunk and up a pole every year, somehow.” Aziraphale shrugged. “Probably for the best. Left to his own devices, he ends up so hungover he usually shuts himself up in his flat with all the lights off and no one sees or hears from him for at _least_ three days after.”

“Have any of you considered getting him some form of professional help?” Crowley asked, looking horrified.

“Oh, he, he’s _fine_. He only does this once a year. Otherwise, he abstains or only has half a glass of wine with a meal now and then.”

Crowley’s eyebrows did not lower from their lofty roost.

“Right,” Crowley said. “I’m thirsty. Gonna go, uh, get some punch. You want anything, Angel?”

“I’d love some punch, thank you,” Aziraphale said.

“How about you two?” Crowley asked, pointing between Hank and Lester.

“Thanks, yeah,” Lester said.

“Nah,” Hank said, shaking his head.

“Bring him one, too, or he’ll drink all of mine,” Lester laughed.

Aziraphale, Hank, and Lester continued to watch as Jessie was strung up while Crowley went to fetch their drinks. Hands full, it was fate, or perhaps God rolling a D1, that caused Crowley to trip over his trouser leg.

They all watched in horror as the liquid traveled through the air, virtually in slow-motion, dousing Lester while his husband stood there, helpless and shrieking.

“That’s going to stain! Have you any idea how hard I worked on that?” Hank shouted, whipping his curled wig off to smack Crowley with it repeatedly. “That’s, that’s _hand-stitching!_ ”

“I’m sorry!” Crowley cried out, holding his hands up to block the flipping of the wig. “It was an accident, I swear!”

Hank stopped his assault long enough to take another glance at the discolored lace work, biting his knuckle with a shaky breath. “I can’t even _look_ at it right now,” he said, turning to run unhappily to the restrooms.

“Aren’t you going to—”

“Nope,” Lester said firmly. “If he says he doesn’t want to look at it, I’m not going to antagonize him.”

“I’ll go see to him,” Aziraphale said, reaching out to smooth down Crowley’s post-attack hair.

“Appreciate that,” Lester said.

Lester and Crowley stood quietly for a few minutes after Aziraphale left. Lester was the first to speak.

“Look, mate, I ain’t even cross, right? I know it was an accident. But Henry’s real upset, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, I could tell, what with all the yelling, beating me with his wig, and locking himself in the loo.”

Lester’s eyebrows lifted in an agreeable shrug and nod. “Right, so, uh, I’ve got to hate you now, hope you understand.”

Crowley nodded with understanding. “Oh, right, yeah, no, I get that.”

“No hard feelings, though.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t change much, really. Just a bit of show for Henry’s sake, is all. Savvy?”

Crowley nodded. ”I do feel bad, though.”

Lester clapped him on the shoulder kindly. “I know you do.”

“I’ll pay for the cleaning.”

“Oh, pish. You don’t have to do that,” Lester said, adjusting and flipping around bits in his lace collar. “Look, you can’t even see it if I do this.

“No, no, I insist.”

“Well, in that case, thank you. That’s awful good of you.”

Crowley shrugged, curling his lip.

“Your boyfriend seems nice,” Lester said. “I like him for you. You suit one another.” 

“You think so?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm,” Crowley hummed. “Yeah, I think so, too. But he’s my best friend, not my boyfriend.”

Lester grinned wickedly, narrowing his eyes. “You sure about that?”

“Yup,” Crowley said flatly, popping the P.

“You’d like him to be, though.”

Crowley bit the corner of his lip as he looked at Lester with exasperation.

Lester put his hands up defensively. “I’m just saying, it could be both things.”

“Yeah, well, don’t say it again.”

“Be a funny old world if I did,” Lester said casually. “I hate you now, remember?”

Crowley laughed quietly. “Yeah, okay.”

After Hank had calmed down, he and Aziraphale left the restroom to go back to the rest of the party.

On the way out, Aziraphale ran into someone that he used to know, quite literally.

“Raphael!”

“Aziraphale? Is that _really_ you?” The man in dark glasses, who looked as if he had been on tour with the Beatles asked.

“Goodness, gracious,” Aziraphale said, smiling uncomfortably. “What a pleasant surprise,” he lied.

Crowley approached. “Hank okay, Angel?”

“Oh, yes, yes. He’s feeling _much_ better.” Aziraphale leaned in to stage-whisper, “He _does_ still hate _you_ , though.”

Crowley’s head tilted back and forth with a nod. “One would assume.”

“Nope, I’m not ready,” Hank wailed as he headed back into the restrooms.

“Perhaps it was a bit early,” Aziraphale said, scrunching up his nose.

“Who’s your friend, Aziraphale?” Raphael asked coolly.

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale smiled, this time genuinely. “Raphael, this is Crowley. Crowley, this is Raphael.”

“Hmm,” Crowley hummed, tilting his head back slightly as he took a closer look at the tall ginger in the dark glasses in front of him. He assumed, and correctly so, that Raphael was doing the same to him.

The two of them circled around Aziraphale, sizing one another up as they did so. Neither offered the other their hand.

Apparently having come to some sort of decision, Raphael turned his attention back to Aziraphale. “You look so _different_. I like it.”

“Yes, well, you know me, always trying new things,” Aziraphale said with a nervous laugh.

“No, you don’t,” Raphael laughed. “That’s not you at all.” Raphael looked at Crowley. “Wouldn’t even change his hair, always wearing the same ridiculous, outdated clothes.” He turned back to Aziraphale. “In fact, that’s why I broke up with you, if you’ll remember.” Raphael looked up at Crowley again. “The sex was good. I mean, he sucks dick like he’s trying for a gold medal, but in every other way he was so _boring_ and _stodgy_.”

“ _Excussse the fuck out of you_?” Crowley hissed, stepping between Raphael and Aziraphale.

“Relax, I don’t mean anything by it. And it’s the truth, so it’s not like you’ve any right to be angry about that.”

“Who the _fuck_ do you think you are to speak about him like that, especially while he’s right fucking _here_?”

“He doesn’t mind,” Raphael laughed, turning towards Aziraphale, “Do you Aziraphale?” Raphael looked back at Crowley. “See? He’s fine with it.”

“You,” Crowley sputtered incredulously as ire bubbled inside of him. “You didn’t even give him a _chance_ to speak!”

“He already knows it anyway,” Raphael shrugged.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Crowley said through clenched fist and gritted teeth. “This man is anything _but_ boring. He impresses and surprises me every single day of my life.”

Raphael’s scoff infuriated Crowley further.

“If you can’t see or appreciate that, it’s your loss,” Crowley said, his nostrils flaring. “And for your information, the se—"

“Oh, how quaint,” Raphael interrupted, turning to Aziraphale. “You went and got yourself a copy of me that’s just as boring as you.” He turned to leave. “Maybe you aren’t as interesting as I thought.”

Aziraphale, trying not to burst into tears right there, realized that no one else, short of Gabriel and Bea, had ever _defended_ him before. And this wasn’t even the first time it had happened, though it was the first time he himself had been directly involved.

Aziraphale loved Crowley so much it _hurt_ in that moment. It hurt, because no matter how much Crowley may like him, and might even love him as people who are close sometimes tend to do, Crowley wasn’t _in love_ with him. And why should he be? Raphael was _right_ , no matter how much Crowley protested that. Aziraphale had certainly been told as much often enough.

Crowley, upon seeing the look on Aziraphale’s face, immediately began trying to comfort him. “Angel, you don’t… You, ngk,” Crowley struggled, looking for some words to make Aziraphale feel better. “You just, you stay right there, okay? I’m going to go get you something to drink. Never did get that punch I was supposed to bring you. Do you still want something to drink?”

Aziraphale nodded weakly. He wasn’t particularly thirsty now, but he knew it would make Crowley feel better to be useful.

Aziraphale watched Crowley heading towards the beverage table where Lester had gone to wait for Hank to return from the restroom for the second time.

“Aziraphale, so good to see you,” a woman in a toga with a golden laurel in her hair said as she walked up. “I thought I saw Crowley out on the dance floor earlier. Why didn’t the two of you come in a couple’s costume?”

Aziraphale had had enough. He couldn’t take any more of this. “Because we _aren’t_ a _couple_!” He said so loudly he nearly shouted. Heads turned, including Crowley’s.

There were two distinct stabs in Crowley’s chest in that moment. The first was, obviously, what Aziraphale had said. Crowley already _knew_ that, but the reminder wasn’t a pleasant one regardless. The second stab, however, was much more painful. The agony that colored Aziraphale’s voice put all other needs to the back of Crowley’s mind. Instead, he focused on making whatever was wrong for Aziraphale right again.

“I, um, I need t—"

Lester gave Crowley a sympathetic look. “Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Yeah, you do.”

Crowley wove his way through the crowd over to Aziraphale to gently lead him out of the banquet hall and into the actual hallway, away from the crowds. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Bea putting her arm out to stop Gabriel from following them.

“Hey,” Crowley said, rubbing Aziraphale’s upper arms once they were safely alone. “What happened?”

“It’s…” Aziraphale sighed, his chin quivering as he looked up and around in every direction but Crowley. “I just…”

Crowley tilted his head to the side, smiling softly at Aziraphale. “You can tell me. You know me, Aziraphale. You _know_ me. I won’t judge you, no matter what.”

Aziraphale finally allowed himself to look at Crowley. He was right. He knew that Crowley wouldn’t judge him, though he still might be hurt by the words themselves. Aziraphale needed to figure out a tactful way to explain.

“It’s been hard enough running into some of my exes,” Aziraphale began with a shaky sigh. “But… It’s… People keep, keep making the _assumption_ that,” Aziraphale bit his lip. Why was he so nervous? He was never this nervous around Crowley. “Th-that you and I…”

“Are together,” Crowley finished.

“Yes,” Aziraphale confirmed, looking up at Crowley with sad eyes. “How did you know?”

“I get that a lot, too. I, um… I’m sorry it bothers you so much,” Crowley said, looking away.

 _I wish I were real enough to deserve you,_ Crowley thought _. Because those bastards who had you before didn’t know what a **treasure** you are. They sure as hell didn’t deserve you._

“Well, it’s not fair, is it?” Aziraphale said angrily. “To _you_ , I mean.” Aziraphale sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. “Or to me, either, I suppose.”

Crowley looked over Aziraphale’s face, hoping his breaking heart wouldn’t bleed out through his open shirt. “No,” Crowley said softly. “I suppose it’s not.”

They quietly stood together, slowly looking from the ground to one another.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said tentatively.

“Yeah?” Crowley replied quietly.

“Is… Is this going to change things?” Aziraphale asked, terrified that Crowley would pull away. “Because I don’t want it to.”

Crowley shivered, trying to cover it with a sigh. How he _wished_ it could have changed things! Unfortunately, Crowley was certain, especially now, that Aziraphale couldn’t feel the same way he did. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

Aziraphale nodded, though he did not look at all convinced.

Crowley closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He couldn’t bear the look on Aziraphale’s face. “Listen, Angel, I… I won’t act as if I know everything in your past, but I know mine. You can’t let what people say get you down for too long. I’d never do anything if I let what others said about me get to me. I know my reputation, and while I might not always lift my head after, I’ll slither on through it to whatever my goal is in spite of what they said. You and I, we know the truth. They don’t. They don’t get to decide the direction of _our_ lives, you know? I’d probably still be in Edinburgh if I thought that way, maybe even dead or locked up.”

Aziraphale marveled at Crowley. _How is it you’ve been through so much,_ Aziraphale thought _, and yet you’re trying to cheer **me** up? _Aziraphale tilted his head to the side with a sigh. _I **do** know the truth, yes_, he thought _. But I fear if **you** knew how much I loved you, you’d run._

_But in the meantime…_

Eyes darting around looking for something specific, Aziraphale took Crowley by the wrist.

“What are you doing?” Crowley asked, allowing himself to be led down a hall.

“I’m taking your advice,” Aziraphale said with a smirk as he opened the door to the utility closet. “What would you say to a _duck-and-fuck_?”

Crowley snorted. “All right.”

The inside of the closet was a narrow space, deeper than it was wide, with a clear spot of wall along one side.

 _Perfect_ , Aziraphale thought with a wicked grin as he backed Crowley inside, locking the door behind them.

Aziraphale had Crowley up against the wall almost immediately, hands roaming along his sides as he leaned in to bring their lips together.

“Your mustache tickles,” Aziraphale said, laughing as he pulled back. “Perhaps kissing with that on isn’t ideal.”

“You don’t like it?” Crowley asked, wide-eyed at the shift in Aziraphale’s demeanor from only moments prior. “It’s gone,” he said, ripping it off of his lip and sticking it against the wall behind him.

Aziraphale laughed into the mouth that quickly met his own as long, slender fingers ran through his curls.

A knee pushed up between Crowley’s legs. “I want to touch you,” Aziraphale said, pulling back from Crowley’s lips to mouth along his jaw. “May I?”

“You don’t have to ask,” Crowley said, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Yes, I do,” Aziraphale whispered, pulling back to look at Crowley. “Don’t let _anyone_ tell you otherwise. They should always check with you first in some way. You, you don’t owe anyone your body. Do you understand?”

After meeting a couple of Aziraphale’s exes tonight, Crowley felt he understood better than he _wanted_ to.

Crowley nodded. “Yes, Aziraphale,” he said. “I want this, and you have my permission.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale whispered, reaching for the button on Crowley’s trousers. He managed to get them, along with Crowley’s underthings, down to just below the tops of his thighs. Aziraphale hoisted him up, folding him in half to put Crowley’s legs on Aziraphale’s chest and shoulders, and his back against the wall. Aziraphale felt around in his pocket, looking for the foil packet of lube he had brought just in case. He grinned at Crowley as he tore it open with his teeth to apply it.

“You had that in your pocket?” Crowley asked with surprise.

Aziraphale pushed himself between Crowley’s thighs and leaned forward, bending Crowley further in half as he bore down against him, his voice a throaty, possessive growl in Crowley’s ear. “I will gladly do whatever I must to ensure I can have you, with your permission, _whenever_ and _wherever_ I want.”

Barely able to take in enough breath to hiss his own excitement at the notion, Crowley moved his head forward as much as he had room for, craning his neck in an attempt for a kiss. Something about the urgency, the way Aziraphale was trying to _possess_ him as he pushed down on Crowley with so much pressure, even the way Aziraphale had planned ahead just enough to ensure he could have his way with Crowley at a moment’s notice, sparked a growing hunger within him. Crowley wanted _more_. He wanted to give over all of himself to Aziraphale, to be _consumed_ by him. He knew that everything Aziraphale took from him would be returned better than he found it. Even being folded in half and roughly thigh-fucked into oblivion against the wall of a dark utility closet.

Aziraphale draped a handkerchief over the fist around Crowley’s cock.

“What’s this,” Crowley gasped. “A puppet show?”

Aziraphale laughed. “I’m borrowing your champagne trick,” he said.

“What?” Crowley asked, unable to think clearly.

“For when you _uncork_ , my dear,” Aziraphale grinned as he began to stroke beneath the fabric barrier.

“What about you?” Crowley panted.

“I don’t intend to do that yet,” Aziraphale breathed into his ear. “Not here, and not now. But don’t you worry, because that is by design. When we leave here, I fully intend to take you home so I can fuck you _boneless_ ,” he said, twisting his grip around Crowley’s cock as he leaned in closer to work him over as thoroughly as possible.

“Shh,” Aziraphale said as he heard the beginning rumbles in Crowley’s throat signaling he was close. “We don’t want anyone to know we’re in here, remember?”

The door swung open.

“Jesus, not this again!” Gabriel groaned. "Are you two just quantum-fucked? Like the weeping angels from Doctor Who, but instead of moving, you're _fucking_ whenever someone isn't looking?"

“ _You’re_ looking,” Aziraphale said. He thought he _could_ have been angry, but realized he was the one in the wrong here.

“Oh, my _God_ ,” Gabriel huffed, rolling his eyes and turning away quickly.

“Are you just going to stand there with the door open so anybody could look in and see this?” Crowley asked disbelievingly.

Gabriel sighed, stepping into the closet and closing the door behind him, locking it after. “Sorry.”

“Don’t come _in_ here!” Crowley yelped. “That’s not what I meant!”

Gabriel groaned, covering his eyes again. “Somebody broke a glass. I need to get a broom and dustpan. Can you look around and see if one is in here?”

Aziraphale spotted the requested items further along the wall he had Crowley folded up against. “There _are_ , but I can’t reach them from here,” he said.

“Why not?” Gabriel asked.

“Because if I lean over or let go of Crowley, he’ll fall, and with you in here, too, there isn’t enough room for me to put him on his feet.”

“Right,” Gabriel said. “Just, okay, this is silly. I’m moving my hand and getting the broom,” Gabriel said, stepping in behind Aziraphale to lean over and reach around him to where the broom was. It was a tight squeeze between Aziraphale and the wall. Gabriel accidentally bumped into him, which pushed Crowley further against the wall supporting him.

“Oof!” Aziraphale said as Gabriel crowded in behind them “Did it occur to you to simply step back outside?”

“Not until just _now_ , no,” Gabriel replied with a flush of embarrassment.

“This is _not_ normal,” Crowley whined.

The door swung open.

“Oh, for _fuck’s sake_ ,” Crowley whined again. “Is everyone _else_ coming, too?”

“I rather think that’s a poor choice of words, my dear,” Aziraphale chuckled.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Gabriel said, still wedged against Aziraphale’s back while holding a broomstick over his head.

“It looks like you went to get the broom like I told you to and you walked in on them shagging again,” Bea said, arching her eyebrow.

“Oh,” Gabriel said, passing the broom to her. “Then it’s _exactly_ what it looks like.”

“And yet neither of you thought to lock the door?” Crowley said, growing bolder and more uncomfortable the longer he stayed there, erection vacant and back pressed against the wall.

“I _did!_ ” Aziraphale and Gabriel said simultaneously.

“Lock’s broken,” Bea said after flipping the lock both ways and trying the knob. “Next time, might want to verify the lock works.” She paused before leaving. “When you three are done in here, come help make sure I don’t knock anything _else_ over with my stinger. I’m up by _two_ broken glasses now.”

Crowley was nearly up to his elbow in flour as he glared at the recipe staring back at him on the tablet propped up against the backsplash of the worktop.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered, staring between the mixture in the bowl, the egg in his clean hand, and the image on the screen. Crowley grinned, putting the egg down to wipe his hands on a tea towel when he heard the familiar ringtone that told him an Aziraphale was calling.

“Angel?”

“Crowley, what do you know about The Beaumont Society?”

There was a pause on the line. “Uh, not much, really. Aren’t they some sort of trans charity?”

“As a matter of fact, they _are_ ,” Aziraphale replied. “I was wondering, have you ever done any work for them?”

Crowley rubbed his nose. “Can’t say that I have, no.”

“Have you ever made a donation, perhaps?”

The line was silent, save for the sound of a throat clearing.

“Hmm,” Aziraphale hummed. “Can you think of any reason there might be a cheque to The Beaumont Society, written in your handwriting, in the amount of £6000?”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m volunteering here today.”

Crowley groaned. “You never said that.”

The warmth of Aziraphale’s smile was evident in his voice even through the phone. “Bea volunteers here regularly, but on occasion I fill in for her. She had a project dumped in her lap suddenly at work, so here I am,” Aziraphale laughed. “I’m working through received post to sort into the proper areas and ran across your cheque.”

“Well, I’d appreciate if you kept that _anonymous_ donation anonymous,” Crowley said. “If some of my clients knew where the money they paid me was being donated, they might no longer be my clients.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Aziraphale said, smiling as he traced his fingers along Crowley’s signature on his cheque.

“Right,” Crowley said after a few moments of silence. “Are you still coming to mine for dinner?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale answered. “What am I having?”

There was a low, throaty laugh on the other end of the line.

Aziraphale returned the laugh with one of his own. “Though I do look forward to having my way with you _after_ , I meant what are we having for _dinner_.”

“It’s a surprise,” Crowley said, scraping a whisk through the mixing bowl with a look of frustration. “Possibly to us both.”

Something specific caught Crowley’s eye in the crumpled newsprint as he unpacked a box Aziraphale had shipped to the bookshop from Edinburgh, then delivered to Crowley’s office for him. The breath caught in his throat as he smoothed out the page. It was the obituary section of the paper.

“Lilith Crawley,” Crowley whispered, tracing his finger along his mother’s name. He went on to read the rest of the obituary. “Preceded in death by her husband, Lugh Crawley…” His voice trailed off finding no mention of his own name anywhere in the body of text.

He looked up into the corner of the page, noticing the date was from a month prior.

“Just as well,” Crowley scowled, mindlessly scratching the ear of the cat who had just jumped up into his lap. “It’s not as if they _wanted_ me in the first place. Hadn’t spoken to them since that night, anyway,” Crowley muttered, remembering the last time he saw his mother’s eyes as she turned to look away when his father cast him out into the dark of night. “Guess it’s too late now.”

Crowley threw his head back against the cushion of his chair with a heavy sigh. “I do _not_ want to be thinking about this. Not now,” he said, closing the eyes that had grown red over the last few minutes. “Not _ever_.”

Newt looked down at the sound of Aziraphale’s phone vibrating. He wasn’t _trying_ to be nosey, but the sound caught his attention. “Aziraphale,” Newt called out into the back room. “You just got a text from Crowley. What does BURMA mean?”

Aziraphale shot out of the back to collect his phone from the counter. “It means that _I’m_ about to close the shop and _you_ get to go home early!” he laughed nervously.

Crowley, upon seeing the closed sign on the shop door, bypassed it entirely. He went around to the back, using the key Aziraphale had given him, and went straight upstairs.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley called out as he moved from room to room in the empty flat. “Aziraphale, where are you? I can’t find you.” He was nearly in a panic when he heard Aziraphale running up the stairs. “Where _were_ you?” He asked, rushing over to wrap his arms around his angel.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, returning the embrace. He didn’t know _what_ was wrong, but judging by how Crowley was acting, along with his red, puffy eyes, _something_ clearly was. “I was in the shop when you came in, but I’m here now,” he said, stroking Crowley’s hair and gently leading them over to the couch to sit down.

Crowley sprung to life, straddling Aziraphale quickly as he began the fight to unbutton buttons and fasteners. “You have on far too many layers. Take them off,” Crowley pouted.

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Just pick whatever answer gets you naked faster,” Crowley whined.

“Crowley, something is very clearly wrong. What’s gotten into you?”

“You, if you’ll stop dragging your heels and get those trousers open,” Crowley huffed, struggling to unwrap Aziraphale’s bowtie. “I’ve had the day from Hell and have been thinking about fucking you all day long even before that.” Crowley’s hands dropped as an apologetic, and slightly petrified, look crossed his face. “Unless you don’t _want_ to, of course.”

“No, no, I didn’t say that,” Aziraphale was quick to point out.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered, burrowing his face in Aziraphale’s neck. “Will you touch me?”

“Is that what you _really_ want?”

Crowley nodded.

“Then yes, Of course I will,” Aziraphale said, tenderly guiding Crowley’s lips to his own briefly before pulling back to look Crowley in the sad, bloodshot eyes. “But what happened today?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Crowley said. “Just… Just touch me. _Please_ , Aziraphale. You don’t even need to fuck me if you don’t want to. Just _touch_ me.”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley tight to his chest, holding him close. One hand gently on the back of Crowley’s head, Aziraphale pressed soft lips against the top of his head, whispering into his hair. “What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale could feel Crowley taking a breath as if to speak, only for it to be caught in his throat and turn into a sob.

“It’s all right,” Aziraphale said, still rocking him. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

Crowley pulled the smoothed-out news clipping from inside of his wallet. Before coming over, he had tucked it in along with his folding money while he figured out what to do with it. It wasn’t something he wanted kept with the precious mementoes stored in the hidden pocket, and it never would be. That space was sacred, holy, and reserved only for the most treasured items Crowley had ever possessed.

Crowley handed the clipping to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale looked down at the paper in his hand, reading it carefully. “Lilith Crawley,” he said. “Was this…?” He paused, glancing over the rest of the text.

“My mother, yeah,” Crowley said, clearing his throat.

Somehow, he managed to explain, in broken bits and pieces, what had happened the last time he had seen his mother decades ago. He spoke of the things his father had said and done that night, how he had questioned why they stayed together when all they ever did was argue and fight, and not just verbally. Crowley explained how he tried to defend his mother as she cowered in a corner, unwilling to defend _herself_ , and when his father’s attention shifted to Crowley, how she _remained_ unwilling to defend or protect _him_ , either.

“She watched… She…” Crowley whispered with a shaking sigh. “She watched until she _didn’t_ ,” he said, bitterly recalling the moment she turned to look away. “She just _let it happen_. I’ve… I’ve always wanted to ask her _why_. It’s too late now.”

Aziraphale looked at the date listed. “Crowley,” he said softly, “Are you only just finding out about this?”

Crowley nodded.

“How did you find out? Who sent you the clipping?”

“You did,” Crowley said, suddenly sucking in a gulp of air. “The vase you won for me in Edinburgh was wrapped in it.”

“Oh, _Crowley_ , I’m so sorry.” Aziraphale held Crowley in his lap, rubbing grounding strokes along his back as he rocked him gently. He pressed a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head as his shoulders stopped shaking.

“That was a terrible thing that you went through,” Aziraphale whispered into Crowley’s hair. “To be cast out into the world so young, and after such an ordeal.”

Crowley sniffled, tightening his grip on Aziraphale.

“I, I just need someone to _want_ me.”

Aziraphale’s arms tightened around him. “For whatever it’s worth to you, I have wanted you for a _very_ long time, and in some ways, ever since we first met. I can assure you, wanting you was _never_ the problem,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley, head still on Aziraphale’s shoulder, squeezed his eyes shut and covered them with his hand. In his already upset frame of mind, his thoughts began a downward spiral. _But there **is** a problem._ _You said **the** , _Crowley thought _, not **a**. There **is** a problem or you would have said **a** , wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t have needed to specifically say **the**. If the problem **isn’t** wanting me, what **is** it? Is it me? Am I the problem?_

_How do I fix it?_

Aziraphale, concerned by Crowley’s reaction, patted him on the back. “What you need is a nice soak. What would you say to me giving you a hot bath?”

“But we haven’t done anything yet.” Crowley protested. “That comes _after_.”

Aziraphale exhaled with a half grin as he hooked his finger underneath Crowley’s chin, turning their faces towards each other. “My dear,” Aziraphale said as he softly pressed his lips to Crowley’s pout, “It’s my responsibility to give you whatever it is you need before, during, and after our activities. But it is _also_ my responsibility to know when to forego all the rest and head straight-on into the _care_ portion.”

After a soothing soak, complete with hair washing, massage, and a good bit of friendly fingering, Aziraphale gently placed Crowley in the bed before going back downstairs to retrieve a surprise. When he returned, he had an old instant camera in his hands.

“How old is that?” Crowley asked as he sat up to look.

“Close to as old as we are,” Aziraphale said with a laugh.

“Does it even work?” Crowley asked.

“Smile for me?” Aziraphale asked, holding the camera up.

“I don’t feel much like smiling, but you can take your picture if it suits you,” Crowley said.

With a flash, pop, and whir, the camera spat out a photograph. Moments later, an image of a naked Crowley sprawled out on Aziraphale’s tartan sheets began to appear.

“I’ll be damned,” Crowley said. “It works.”

Aziraphale climbed into the bed next to Crowley. “Do you see how beautiful you are? Look at that. You’re _gorgeous_ ,” Aziraphale said, handing the photo to Crowley as he pushed Crowley gently down on the bed. Aziraphale began kissing along his shoulder and across Crowley’s chest, taking time to focus a few feather-light flicks of his tongue against the nipples in the way he knew brought Crowley the most pleasure. His voice low and quiet, Aziraphale asked, “Do you still want me to touch you?” He gently pressed his teeth along Crowley’s chest.

“Yesss,” Crowley hissed as his back arched up beneath Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Would you like me to fuck you, Crowley?”

Crowley bit his bottom lip, nodding his head. “Yesss,” he hissed again, involuntarily.

“Good,” Aziraphale said, handing him a towel. “Then turn over while I get undressed.”

“Do you want me on my knees or my stomach?”

“Just get comfortable, my dear. I’ll move you as I need when I’m ready. Is that all right? You won’t have to do anything. Just let me take care of you.”

Crowley laid down on his stomach with his hands underneath his chin, humming in contentment. “That sounds nice,” he said.

Once Aziraphale had finished undressing, he smoothed his palms down Crowley’s back, over the gentle slope of his backside, and down the back of his thighs before running them back up, kneading the muscle as his arms stilled. Gently, he probed with his thumbs to verify the prep work they had done in the bath was enough.

Aziraphale reached into the drawer of the bedside table, retrieving a bottle of lubricant, flipping the cap open. He slicked himself, then worked more lubrication in and around Crowley’s entrance before wiping his hand on the towel and lifting Crowley by the hips. He watched with fascination as his cock lined up with Crowley’s entrance, pushing in slowly. Aziraphale picked up the camera, pointing it and taking a picture before sliding the rest of the way inside.

Aziraphale placed the camera off to the side. He lowered himself down to press down against Crowley, fully sheathed, and bore down in a way that he knew would bring Crowley a delicious friction as his cock ground down against the bed.

Judging by the sound Crowley made on the first thrust, the idea was a good one.

Aziraphale covered Crowley’s body with his own, being careful to ensure Crowley still had room to take a deep breath and could still move if he needed to. Aziraphale wanted to protect Crowley from everything that brought him pain, replacing it with pleasure, joy, and as much love as he could give without getting caught.

Crowley pushed up against him, moaning and clawing at the sheets as Aziraphale drove deeper inside of him at a punishing pace.

“I’m going to fuck you through this mattress,” Aziraphale growled, breathing heavy and hot into Crowley’s ear with each forceful thrust of his hips. “Or do you want to sit up in my lap and ride my cock?”

Salivating and near-incoherent, Crowley let out a collection of sounds that he _hoped_ was close enough to an affirmation. He smiled with a disjointed laugh when he felt strong, firm hands pulling on his hips to lift him up.

Careful to keep one arm around Crowley’s sweat-slick chest so he wouldn’t fall, Aziraphale reached over to pick up the camera again, this time holding it up to take an instant camera selfie of the two of them.

He put the camera down, holding the photo in his hand to wait for it to develop while he bounced Crowley in his lap.

“Look at that,” Aziraphale cooed, nuzzling along Crowley’s shoulder while holding the photo up for them both to see. “Look how _gorgeous_ you look riding my cock. Do you like riding my cock, Crowley? You take it so well,” he said, pressing soft kisses along Crowley’s back. “You feel so _good_ , Crowley. You’re so good for me. I want you right here, in my lap. You’re _so good_ Crowley. You—”

At the arch of his back, Crowley’s head pushed against Aziraphale’s shoulder as he came, hard, loud, heavy, and shaking.

But Aziraphale wasn’t done.

He continued to fuck up into Crowley, taking more photographs to capture the moments he missed seeing when he had Crowley in his lap like that. Soon, through the combination of Crowley’s dazed smile in the photographs, the soft gasps in Aziraphale’s ear, and the exquisite way he felt squeezing along Aziraphale’s cock, Aziraphale’s time had _come_ , so to speak. He slammed Crowley’s hips down against his own, clinging tightly to him, ensuring every drop of his release belonged to Crowley, who had earned it for being so good.

Spent and thoroughly sated, the two collapsed back down onto the bed, surrounded by photographic evidence of their coital bliss.

Once they caught their breath and regained a bit more clarity, Aziraphale picked up the photos.

“When I look at these photographs again, and I _will_ ,” Aziraphale said, “They will remind me of how much I enjoy _having_ you, which will make me _want_ you all over again.”

They held one another, wrapped in tartan blankets, and, unbeknownst to either of them, the arms of the one who loved them the most fully and purely.

Soon, upon hearing the gentle, rhythmic breathing next to him, Crowley cautiously picked up the camera to take a photo of Aziraphale as he slept. He cringed at the sound of the flash and the whirring of the motor as the photograph came out, but Aziraphale did not stir. Crowley very carefully climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom to retrieve his wallet from his jacket. He opened it, reaching his fingertips to spread the special section of the wallet, the place for his most prized and treasured possessions, and slipped the photo of a sleeping Aziraphale inside.

Crowley made his way back to bed, crawling underneath the covers on top of Aziraphale, brushed a whisper of a kiss upon his lips, and curled up to go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is [ The Pen that Aziraphale gave Crowley.](https://www.wheelersluxurygifts.com/news/post/montblanc-carlo-collodi-pinocchio-fountain-pens--rollerball---ballpoint-pens--limited-edition-)  
> [BURMA: Be Upstairs Ready My Angel](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World_War_II_postal_acronyms)
> 
> Update: This is still going, though I had to take a break from art and writing for a bit due to a back injury that made it difficult to lift my arms without pain for a couple of weeks.  
> For future reference, you can find updates to what's happening, as well as snippets of previews of this and other of my works, at [ my website.](https://www.amadness2method.com/category/wips/)
> 
> And don't forget, there are still a few days left in my [DTIYS event for Instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/p/CDL-T9XFlxG/)


	13. *Pounding Clipboard* Teeth Teeth TEETH!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you could possibly think of under the sun is coming out of Crowley’s mouth in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Consensual bondage, knowing one’s limits, and an emergency visit to the dentist that has absolutely nothing to do with the bondage or limits.  
> NSFW art early on in the chapter.

“That’s pornographic.”

“It _isn’t_.”

“It _is_ ,” Aziraphale said, looking up at the statue in front of what would soon become an alcove, if the construction materials, boards, and tools surrounding it were any indication. There were two naked men with wings, one pressing against the other. “And I can’t believe you had people in your home with this obvious depiction of a sexual act on display.”

“Angel, they brought it in from the auction house,” Crowley said. “Shem and his lot are also carpenters. I’m paying them to build some shelves and an area to display this.”

“Shem?”

“You remember, delivery people for the Garden House? They contract through a few places. They were at Gay Christmas setting up the balloons.”

“Oh, yes, yes, I remember now. Well, I suppose if they’ve been to Gay Christmas, there’s not much they _haven’t_ seen,” Aziraphale mused.

“And it’s not _pornographic_ ,” Crowley reiterated. “It’s a battle for triumph.”

“Isn’t that all battles, though? I’m not certain anyone battles to _lose_ ,” Aziraphale said with a smirk.

“Well,” Crowley drawled. “Sometimes that might be the case, depending on the circumstances. But let’s not get into that,” Crowley said, moving past the drop-cloth-littered corner of his hall to the bathroom. Once the door was opened, Figgs pranced out happily. “Did you have a nice, fun time being locked in the bathroom all day? I heard you went on a little adventure,” Crowley said, bending down to pat Figgs on the head.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale called out, grinning wickedly as he spotted a currently unencumbered sawhorse amongst the items.

“Yeah?” Crowley said, walking towards Aziraphale.

“Do you know where your soft cuffs are?”

Crowley bit his lip, lifting himself up and down on the balls of his feet with excitement. “I do. I take it you’ve had an idea?”

“You could say that,” Aziraphale said, not taking his eyes off of the sawhorse as Crowley headed towards his bedroom, Figgs trotting merrily behind him, to fetch the requested items. “Bring at least two cushions as well,” Aziraphale called out after him. “You’re going to want to be comfortable on the back of this horse.”

Crowley’s head poked back into the hallway, eyebrows furrowed and lip curled in confusion. “ _What_?”

“You’ll see,” Aziraphale said, lifting his eyebrows and lowering them twice.

While Crowley was gathering his portion of the items, Aziraphale went to fetch the box of votive candles from the cupboard in the kitchen. He dragged the sawhorse over to a clear space in the hall where there were no tools, drop cloths, or anything else in the way. He turned off the overhead lights, placing candles into the wall sconces on either side of the sawhorse along with a group in the floor in front.

“I put Figgs in my bedroom when I smelled the candles you lit,” Crowley said, walking into the hallway wearing only the charcoal grey button-down shirt he had worn to dinner and a pair of dark red satin panties. He held two round cushions, one in beige and one wine-red, and a set of soft faux-fur-lined wrist and ankle cuffs in his arms. He eyed the sawhorse for a moment. “Angel?”

“Oh, you clever thing. You’ve already removed your _treacherous_ trousers. With your permission, I’d like very much for you to undress _completely_ so I can bind and drape and you over this sawhorse.”

“That seems simple enough,” Crowley said, not at all convinced that it would be simple in the slightest bit. Nevertheless, he was eager to take the rest of his clothing off and saddle up if it pleased his angel.

“I’ll be back in a tic,” Aziraphale said, headed towards the bathroom. When he returned, he had a small basin filled with warm, fragrant water, a flannel, and a towel. Crowley was already nude, and in the process of cuffing his wrists and ankles. He would wait for Aziraphale to attach the straps in whatever arrangement he had in mind. “Jolly good,” Aziraphale said, pleased at Crowley’s progress. “You’ve done so well.”

Crowley smiled happily, sucking in his lower lip and letting it go with a pop. “Now what?”

Aziraphale took one of the cushions, tossing it to the floor behind the sawhorse. “Now, you take the cushion you’ve got and put it over the center of the bar here, then lean that limber body of yours over it for me so I can affix your straps,” Aziraphale said as he carefully placed the bowl of water and the towel down next to the sawhorse while kneeling on the second pillow.

“Yes, Angel,” Crowley replied, doing as he was told. He arranged the pillow, leaning over it with his feet spread and his hands on the floor. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Perfect,” Aziraphale said, picking up the straps to latch onto the cuff rings in a crisscross pattern. “You’ve done exactly as I asked. Are you comfortable?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Crowley replied from his upside-down position.

“Excellent,” Aziraphale said, reaching for the bowl and the flannel. “I’ll expect you to inform me if that changes at all.” He dipped it into the warm water, squeezing out most of the excess, and began to gently wash along the back of Crowley’s thighs, his buttocks, and everything in between.

“Mmm,” Crowley hummed, relaxing as Aziraphale continued his ministrations. “That feels good,” he said. “Are you going to fuck me like this?”

“No,” Aziraphale said, running the flannel down the center of Crowley’s backside one more time before pushing the bowl to the side and gently patting his damp skin dry with the towel. “I have something else in mind.”

Tossing the towel to the side, Aziraphale began to massage Crowley’s buttocks, pulling them apart slightly to run his tongue up along the center.

“Oh,” Crowley’s legs tensed and his head lifted as he gasped out. “Oh, uh, o-okay,” Crowley stammered. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

Aziraphale grinned, nipping at Crowley’s skin before his tongue traveled back along the same path, taking his time to press a bit deeper with each additional pass. The tip of his tongue gently prodded at Crowley’s entrance, savoring the sounds it brought out in response. With each noise pulled from Crowley’s throat, he grew bolder in his actions, licking more firmly into Crowley.

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s hands on his trousers as they were unzipped and pulled down along with the same blue boxers Crowley had gotten for him the first time they went to Tadfield together. Aziraphale was already hard, but found himself growing harder still at the feel of Crowley’s hands reaching for his hips to pull them in closer to him

“Angel,” Crowley’s voice was low but pleading as he craned his neck towards Aziraphale.

“What do you need, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, his voice rich and soothing.

“I need your cock in my mouth,” he said hoarsely. “ _Please_. Fuck my mouth, Angel.”

Crowley whined as Aziraphale pulled back momentarily. “You make such delightful noises,” Aziraphale laughed, grazing his teeth lightly along Crowley’s skin while scooting closer to him, knees past the edge of the cushion. “It’s almost a shame they’re about to be muffled.”

Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s hips tighter, opening his mouth to greedily take the hard cock between his lips. He savored the velvet drag along his tongue as he leaned in closer.

“Put your hands back down, Crowley,” Aziraphale instructed, putting his right hand behind Crowley’s head.

Crowley did as he was told, shivering in anticipation.

Aziraphale hummed out a few sounds that ran straight down Crowley’s spine before placing a not-at-all- chaste kiss to Crowley’s entrance, picking up where he had left off moments before.

Slowly, to ensure he didn’t hurt Crowley in this position, Aziraphale began to guide Crowley’s head back and forth along his cock in rhythm with his own tongue. He was beginning to grow braver and pick up speed when he felt a frantic tapping on his thigh.

Aziraphale stopped moving. “Are you all right?”

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s thigh once, indicating a negative.

He pulled out of Crowley’s mouth. “Color?”

“Yellow. Ngk… No, wait. It’s, I’m sorry. Red. It’s red. I, I’m getting really light-headed and I feel like I’m going to pass out. I need to stop.”

“Don’t apologize,” Aziraphale said, tucking himself back into his clothing and fastening his trousers with one hand while unhooking the straps on Crowley’s cuffs with the other. “I’m proud of you for telling me you were uncomfortable. You’ve done exactly as you were meant to do.” He felt Crowley trying to stand up, quickly putting a hand on his back to stop him. “Not yet. You’re going too fast. You’ll certainly black out if you do that and all that blood rushes down. Remember that documentary you saw about giraffes? They have special valves in their necks to prevent passing out, but you do not. You’ll need to stand up gradually. Let me help you.”

“Right,” Crowley agreed, clearing his throat. “Wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“All the more reason to let me handle things for you, my dear,” Aziraphale said warmly as he stood up to help guide Crowley up slowly, taking him into the bedroom to lie him down on the bed. “Now, you stay here. I’m going to put the candles away and bring you something to drink.”

 _He takes such good care of me,_ Crowley thought. _I love him so much. I could never hope to be good enough for someone as incredible as he is, but I hope he at least likes the shelves I’m having them put in to make the alcove for my statue. I’d like him to be more comfortable here. I’ve got **some** books in my collection, but not enough to fill the shelves once they’re completed. _Crowley smiled with a contented sigh, sliding his legs together before rolling over onto his stomach to watch the doorway, awaiting Aziraphale’s return. _I wonder what books he’ll want to add to fill in the blank spaces?_

They smiled at one another as Aziraphale re-entered the bedroom with a glass of water, closing the door behind him.

 _I’d build you an entire library if you wanted_ , Crowley thought, his eyes on Aziraphale as he brought the glass to Crowley’s lips, encouraging him to drink.

Aziraphale rubbed along Crowley’s back. “There you go,” he said, taking the glass away once it was empty. “You’re so good, drinking all of your water. I’m so proud of you.” Aziraphale leaned over to nuzzle against Crowley’s cheek, moving in to kiss him.

“Nope,” Crowley said, tilting his head away and putting his hand up. “Go brush your teeth. I know where that mouth has been, and I want no part of it.”

Aziraphale started to laugh.

“Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a problem with the noble art of eating ass,” Crowley said. “I’ll even return the favor if you’d like, happily. But I lack any interest in eating my own, thank you, and I’m _not_ kissing you until you brush your teeth.”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. “Have you forgotten what was just in _your_ mouth?”

Crowley tilted his head, looking sarcastically at Aziraphale. “ _No_ , I haven’t. I’ll brush mine, too, if it suits you.”

“I honestly don’t care either way,” Aziraphale said. “And kissing me after I’ve had my mouth on you never bothered you before. What’s the difference here?”

“Don’t, d-don’t,” Crowley stuttered with frustration, “Don’t do that. Don’t try to use _logic_ or, or _facts_ to win this argument. It’s just _different_ , all right?” He exaggeratedly traced his finger across the sheet between them. “This is my line in the sand.”

Aziraphale grinned broadly. “Look at you,” he cooed. “Asking for boundaries and acknowledging your limits. I’m so proud of you.”

Crowley blinked at him several times. “Go brush your teeth, Aziraphale!” Crowley laughed exasperatedly.

Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s hand, kissing his knuckles as he stood to go into the bathroom. “As you wish.”

Aziraphale looked down at the two black toothbrushes in the cup, one with a red band wrapped around the bottom, one with a blue. He picked up his blue-banded toothbrush, smiling. _His_ toothbrush in _Crowley’s_ bathroom, there was something about that Aziraphale couldn’t help but enjoy. He looked over at the assortment of toiletries on either side of the sink vanity, noting the distinctions between the two sides joined by the sink in the center. He thought about all the times he sniffed the different products of Crowley’s in his own bathroom above his bookshop, wondering if Crowley ever did that here, too.

Movement in the mirror caught his eye as Crowley entered, walking up behind him to wrap one arm around Aziraphale while the other grabbed the red-banded toothbrush.

“Are you feeling better, my dear?” Aziraphale leaned his head back against Crowley’s shoulder, closing his eyes. _This may not be love_ , Aziraphale thought, _but it certainly is an intoxicating approximation_. Opening his eyes, he smiled at their reflection, uncapping the toothpaste and holding it up.

“I am, thank you,” Crowley said, pressing their temples together. “I decided that if I were to insist you brush yours, the least I could do would be to brush mine. Dick notwithstanding, dinner was a bit potent,” Crowley said, holding his brush up to the offered toothpaste. He gave a cheeky grin and wink to Aziraphale through the mirror as he stuck the brush in his mouth.

“Has anyone ever told you that you brush rather aggressively?” Aziraphale asked, brushing gentle circles across his teeth.

“Yes,” Crowley said, rapidly thrusting the toothbrush back and forth in his mouth.

Once teeth and tongues were cleaned and toothbrushes rinsed and returned to their cohabitation cup, Crowley moved around in front of Aziraphale to bring their lips together in a soft, slow kiss. “Take me to bed, Angel,” he whispered.

Not having to be told twice, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley by the back of the thighs and hoisted him up, scrunching up his nose in delight at the undignified grunt Crowley made in the process, and carried him back to the bed.

Aziraphale laid Crowley down gently, gazing down longingly at him as he unbuttoned buttons and unzipped zippers. Once his own clothing had been removed, he climbed into the bed over Crowley. “What do you want?” He asked, leaning down to lay a trail of kisses up Crowley’s neck from clavicle to jaw, flicking his tongue along the bob of Crowley’s Adam’s apple along the way.

“You,” Crowley said, accidentally letting his guard down. “You, uh, you can do whatever you like,” Crowley added.

“I’d like very much to fuck you now, Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice vibrated along Crowley’s throat as he moved back down. Would you like that, too?”

“Yes, please,” Crowley said, gasping at the bite Aziraphale placed upon a particularly tender part of his shoulder.

“Good,” Aziraphale’s voice rumbled with want as he began to prepare Crowley. He was pleased to find Crowley was practically ready after their previous activities, needing only a bit of lubrication and patience for a pleasant stretch.

Aziraphale lined them up together, leaning down to kiss Crowley as he slowly pressed in. Lips moving with a slow, deliberate tenderness as they kissed, Aziraphale held his lower body still while Crowley’s legs twitched, tensed, and trembled on either side of him. He waited for an indication from Crowley that he was ready to move, and began a slow, languid movement

Normally, Crowley might have urged him to go faster, but not tonight. There was something different about tonight, though Aziraphale couldn’t quite pinpoint what it might have been. Regardless, he enjoyed the way this slower pace allowed him to experience every twitch of muscle and hitch of breath beneath him. 

_I could very easily lose myself in you_ , Aziraphale thought, sliding an arm beneath Crowley to pull him closer. _Sometimes I wonder if I already have._

Aziraphale looked down into the hazy gold and brown eyes of his friend, his lover, his love. There was something in Crowley’s eyes that terrified Aziraphale. He felt as if he were inching towards the top of the roller coaster, slowly, ever so slowly, waiting for the drop.

 _I don’t know how, but every day, I find myself a bit more in love with you than I had been the day before. It’s dangerous, this feeling_ , Aziraphale thought _. But oh, what I wouldn’t give to be able to fall the rest of the way down with you._

Crowley’s eyes slowly closed, his lips parting, whispering a wordless confessional against the partition of Aziraphale’s mouth _. Forgive me, Angel, for I have sinned. Though I’ve known the taste of your lips for almost a year, I’ve coveted you for nearly two. Sometimes I think my little wooden heart didn’t beat before you gave it reason and purpose. You deserve so much more than a thing like me. You deserve something **real**. I may not be able to give you that, but what I do have is yours. Everything, all of it. Pull my strings and move me as you see fit. I would do anything to give you what you need. Tell me, and it’s yours. _

Crowley’s s concentration began to slip as he felt a growing heat deep within him, uncoiling and ready to boil over.

Aziraphale, adoring the flush on the sweat-damp skin beneath him, held Crowley even tighter as he picked up speed, fucking into Crowley harder and faster in an effort to bring them both to completion together.

Aziraphale knew what he was doing in this part. He had it down to a science. He knew Crowley’s body intimately, inside and out. Aziraphale could take Crowley apart blindfolded and put him back together again. After all, he had done so in _multiple_ _ways_ on _multiple_ occasions, some even _with_ an _actual_ blindfold.

Crowley’s eyes opened as he wrapped his arms and legs around Aziraphale, clinging to him and snapping his own hips erratically. Desperately, he hooked an arm around Aziraphale’s neck drawing him down for a kiss, breaking it only when a whispered name escaped his lips, drawing their climaxes out along with it.

“ _Aziraphale_!”

Aziraphale marveled at the dreamy expression on Crowley’s face as he looked down to see warm, gold and brown eyes staring back up at him. He huffed a contented laugh out and bit his lip into a grin as they locked eyes, both trying to catch their breath. Suddenly, long, slender fingers gripped insistently, yet tenderly, into his hair, pulling Aziraphale’s smiling lips down to meet lips full of hunger and need.

Moments later, when Aziraphale attempted to pull back, Crowley lifted with him, his kisses increasing in intensity as he pulled Aziraphale back down, wrapping himself even tighter around him. It wasn’t until Aziraphale placed his own hands to hold along either side of Crowley’s face that he was able to break the kiss.

“I take it you’ve enjoyed yourself,” Aziraphale said coyly, eyes lingering on the way Crowley licked his lips before pressing them together, dimpling his cheek. 

Crowley’s lips parted once more to take a deep breath. Maybe it was the flood of oxytocin, maybe it was the phase of the moon, but that didn’t strictly matter. Crowley didn’t care about any of that. He was focused, now, on one specific thing. He closed his eyes tightly as he gathered himself. “Aziraphale,” Crowley said, gently brushing the hair that had stuck in wild lines along the angel’s face back behind his ear. This was important, what he wanted to say, had wanted to for a very long time. Crowley wanted to get it _right_. He paused for a beat, looking back and forth between Aziraphale’s shining eyes, dark and sultry in the low light, before beginning again. “Aziraphale, I—"

There was a loud crashing sound from the other side of the bedroom door, startling them both.

Crowley lifted himself, trying to slip out from beneath Aziraphale to get up.

“No,” Aziraphale said, pushing Crowley back down to the bed. “You stay here. I’ll go see what’s happened.”

"It's my flat, I should be the one to go."

“No,” Aziraphale repeated. “I _know_ you. You’re not going to be steady on your feet for a bit longer. I won’t be able to focus on what I might need to do if I’m worrying about you. _Stay here_. I’ll go.” Aziraphale put on the robe Crowley kept for him, cinching it about the waist, and grabbed the metal vase in the corner.

“What are you going to do with _that_?” Crowley hissed out in a whisper.

“Hopefully _nothing_ ,” Aziraphale replied. “But needs must,” he said, quietly opening the bedroom door.

Crowley nervously sat up in bed, straining the limits of his hearing to listen for clues on what was happening.

“Everything’s all right,” Aziraphale said, ducking his head back into the bedroom briefly. “Your cat does not share your appreciation for art.”

“What’s broken?”

“Nothing, as far as I can tell. I’m about to take a closer look. I wanted to let you know not to worry first, though.”

“Thank you,” Crowley said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll help.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Your pornographic statue is _quite_ heavy, and you’re still jelly-kneed.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley huffed.

“Just a moment,” Aziraphale said, backing away from the doorway for a moment before stepping inside once more. “Here’s the cat. Keep an eye on him,” Aziraphale said, gently tossing Figgs onto the bed, closing the door behind him.

“Take care of the cat,” Crowley mocked, petting Figgs. “ _Obviously_. He’s _my_ cat. ‘ _Course_ I’m gonna take care of him.” He held Figgs up to look him in the eyes. “I _do_ take care of you, don’t I, babydoll?” Crowley said in a sing-song voice. “Such good care of my Fickle Figgle-Wiggle.”

Crowley put the cat down when he heard a scraping sound. “Everything all right out there?” He called out.

“Uh, y-yes. Tickety-boo,” Aziraphale called back. “I’ll be back after I set things to rights.”

After a few minutes, Aziraphale came back into the bedroom. “Perhaps he should stay in here tonight,” Aziraphale said, nodding to Figgs as he climbed into bed. “I had to unhook his claw from one of the drop cloths. I believe that’s what did it.”

“Figgs _couldn’t_ have knocked over that statue just by pulling on a cloth,” Crowley said, wide eyed in disbelief.

“No, but he could very easily disturb a cloth with several boards standing up that fell over to hit the side of an unfastened plinth,” Aziraphale explained.

“Oh,” Crowley nodded, burying his face into Figgs’s fur to kiss along his side. “That could have ended so badly,” Crowley said. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to him.”

Aziraphale smiled as he watched Crowley cuddling with Figgs. “How long have you had him?”

“Eh,” Crowley considered, looking up and around, his mouth hanging open as he mentally tallied time. “Maybe four years, possibly? I was coming back from one of my trips to Italy. Saw him hanging around the pavement in the rain mid-December, just a bit of nothing and wet fluff.”

Aziraphale tutted, reaching out to scratch beneath the cat’s chin.

“I knew the weather said it was going to be a particularly heavy rain that evening. I had my hands full at the time with my bags, but I figured, if he was still around the next time I went down there, I’d bring him up to get warm.”

“You went back to check within a quarter hour, didn’t you?”

“Well, I couldn’t very well leave him out there to drown in a puddle, now, could I?” Crowley asked, horrified. “But that’s not the point,” Crowley said. “And _for the record_ , if _you’re_ cold, _they’re_ cold. It’s just common sense.” Crowley made an attempt to sneer at the adoring look he was receiving from Aziraphale. “Anyway, brought him up, posted flyers around the building, ran a few ads in the papers, but no one claimed him.” _Just like me_ , Crowley thought with a sigh. “We’ve been together ever since.”

Crowley kissed the cat on top of the head. “One of the workers told me that Figgs got out of the bathroom when one of them opened the door earlier.”

“What were they doing opening the door to your bathroom?”

“Pissing, one would assume.”

Aziraphale glared with a huff.

“I told them it was fine, Angel.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “That was very kind of you.” He considered for a moment, running through a few scenarios in his mind. “Do you think it’s going to be safe to leave him here while they continue the work?”

“No, I don’t, I don’t think so. I don’t feel comfortable about that now,” Crowley shook his head. “I’ll bring Figgs with me to the office tomorrow,” Crowley said, scratching behind the cat’s ear. “They shouldn’t take too much longer for the work to be done. If I have to, I can board Figgs in a kitty hotel in case they run over projection and I have to go somewhere. You don’t mind hanging out over here more during that time, do you? I won’t be able to come to the bookshop.”

“It will be a struggle, but I’ll manage, _somehow_ ,” Aziraphale laughed. “But the _real_ question is if Didi going to be okay with that. You’ve told me how much she scares you. And having met the woman, I’m inclined to agree.”

“Oh, she _does_ , definitely,” Crowley replied. “But yeah, she’s the one who takes care of him when I’m out of town. She adores Figgs. She’s got a couple of cats herself.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Is there anything I might be able to do to help you with that?”

Crowley shook his head. “I’ll have Didi pick up some litter and a pan when I get to the office so I don’t have to leave him in the car long enough to pop into a shop. He won’t _like_ using it, but he’ll get over it.”

Aziraphale shook his head with a laugh. “I still can’t believe you have not one, but _two_ cat toilets.”

Crowley’s brows furrowed questioningly. “Loads of people have two litter boxes.”

“Yes, but you don’t have two _litter boxes_. You have two bespoke feline toilets.”

Crowley scoffed out a haughty laugh. “Excuse you?”

“You _know_ I’m right,” Aziraphale said, propping up on an elbow.

“Right,” Crowley looked at him, swatting the tail that was slapping against his face. “First of all,” Crowley made an angry grunt of a whine, shaking his head menacingly back and forth at Aziraphale. “And secondly, how _dare_ you?”

“I do believe those both could have been combined into one single thing,” Aziraphale said, reaching over to stroke down Figgs’s back.

“Excuse you _again_ ,” Crowley said, snuggling Figgs up into his arms like a baby and rocking him. “It’s _my_ list of grievances, and I’ll air them as I see fit. And thirdly, they’re not _bespoke_ feline toilets, all right?” Crowley said, shaking his head at Aziraphale with a heatless sneer as Figgs hopped down and back onto the pillow. “They’re just _regular_ cat toilets. They come from a factory like that. Nothing especially _bespoke_ about them.”

“Most people have a box of sand that might cost what, ten quid? You’ve got something that hooks into the plumbing and _flushes_ _automatically_ , for Heaven’s sake! And after you told me about it, I went to the website. I saw what one of them cost, and your cat has two.”

Crowley pouted, narrowing his eyes.

 _“Regular cat toilets_ ,” Aziraphale repeated with a laugh. “Crowley, listen to yourself.”

“I have to. It’s the only way I’ll get a decent conversation,” Crowley huffed, rolling over. “And for your information, Figgs had a hard life before I found him. He _deserved_ the premium option,” Crowley pouted. “I wanted him to have something _nice_.”

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him, squeezing tightly as he pressed against his back beneath the blankets. “You know,” Aziraphale whispered, kissing the shell of Crowley’s ear before nuzzling into his hair. “I find it incredibly endearing how much you care about making Figgs happy and comfortable. You really are, deep down, quite a _nice_ person.”

“Shut it,” Crowley said without heat. “I’m a demon. I’m not nice.” Crowley brought Aziraphale’s hand to his lips, kissing it as he closed his eyes and pressed himself deeper within Aziraphale’s embrace to go to sleep, his last confession of the evening momentarily lost to the distractions of the night.

While enjoying an otherwise lovely lunch, Crowley bit down and suddenly grabbed his jaw with one hand, slamming the other on the table with a sharp yelp inwards.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

Crowley sat there shaking for a moment, still holding his jaw with his eyes shut tightly, unable to speak.

“Is it, is it your mouth? Is something wrong with your mouth?”

Crowley tapped the table with his fist twice.

“Did you bite your tongue?”

One tap.

“Is it your teeth?”

Two hard pounds against the table.

“Is there anything I can do?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley’s hand hovered above the table uncertainly. There was a faint sheen of sweat along his forehead in spite of the late November chill. When his shaking had settled down some, Crowley opened up his newly reddened eyes. Grabbing his napkin, he brought it to his lips, spitting something inside carefully.

“Yup,” Crowley said, looking inside the napkin in his hand. He winced, throwing his free hand over his mouth as his body convulsing at the sensation of cold air hitting the inside of his mouth when he spoke.

“Oh, good Lord,” Aziraphale said, pulling the hand with the napkin in it to himself to look. “Is that part of a tooth?”

Crowley nodded, eyes closed again.

“Where did that come from?”

Crowley’s eyes shot open wide, his eyebrows raising ridges of extreme befuddlement on his forehead.

“Yes, right,” Aziraphale said, embarrassed by his own question. “Of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“That makes two of us,” Crowley managed to say from beneath his hand. He pulled his phone out, unlocking it and scrolling through the phone book, pulling up an entry. “Dentist. Call for me?”

“Of course, yes.” Aziraphale said, picking up the phone and hitting dial.

After speaking with the dentist, it was established that, yes, it was a dental emergency, and _yes_ , they could work him in, though he’d need to get there soon for scans to determine the best course of action.

“Look, there’s no way I’m going to be able to drive us from here to there, Angel,” Crowley winced, still covering his mouth. “You’re just going to have to drive the Bentley for me.”

“The fuck I am!” Aziraphale yipped, surprising them both. “I mean, I’m not comfortable with that, not at all.”

“Aziraphale, my car is _here_.” Crowley gestured around the restaurant. “I’d rather not _leave_ it here if I don’t _have_ to. But more than that, I adamantly refuse to take the tube when I’m all hopped up on anesthetic. I’ve seen videos of people. I’ll escape while you’ve got your nose in a book and wake up in Edinburgh.”

“Crowley, you _can’t_ take the tube to Edinburgh,” Aziraphale said flatly.

“ _Watch_ me,” Crowley flinched. “Do you know who I am? If there’s a way, I’ll _find_ it.”

“There _isn’t_ one.”

“Angel, I’m in an _extraordinary_ amount of pain right now. I can’t think like this.”

“Then you won’t think of a way to—”

“I can’t think _logically_. I’m never at a loss for hoisting myself by my own petard.”

Aziraphale looked at him condescendingly. “Fine. I’ll have Bea drop Gabriel off, and—“

“No,” Crowley quickly interjected. “No one rides in my car, no one drives my car.”

“ _I_ ride in your car, and we’re having this discussion because you tried to convince _me_ to _drive_ it.”

“That’s _different_ ,” Crowley snapped, clutching his jaw as he hissed in more than mere physical pain.

“How?” Aziraphale asked.

“Told you, ‘m not thinking clearly right now,” Crowley said in one of the most evenly blended true lies he had ever uttered.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes while running a soothing thumb along Crowley’s opposite cheek. “You’re just going to have to call someone, then.”

Crowley threw his phone back on the table in front of Aziraphale. “My lock code is 1941. Call Didi.”

Didi was at the restaurant within a quarter of an hour. “Get in, losers. We’re going to the dentist,” she grinned.

Once they were in the back seat and buckled in, Didi explained that she had already spoken with one of Crowley’s preferred mechanics and requested them tow the Bentley to their shop for regular maintenance, even though it was a little early for it, as well as cancelling his appointments for the remainder of the week.

“You did all of that, _and_ drove here, in the few minutes between now and when I was on the phone with you?” Aziraphale asked in shock.

“Well, I’m worth the double pay I’ll be getting for this week,” she said, cutting her eyes to Crowley in the rear-view mirror.

Crowley nodded, waving his hand dismissively, followed by a thumbs up.

Upon pulling up to the dental hospital, Didi turned around. “All right, my freaky little darlings. I’m headed to the cinema. I assume this will take some time. Text me when you’re ready to leave. I’ll have my phone on.”

“In the cinema?” Aziraphale asked, scandalized.

“That’s the best time to do it. Annoys the most people at once,” Didi grinned. “Have fun getting stabbed in the mouth, Crowley.”

Crowley laughed, cringing as he tried to smile and felt a jolt of pain. He patted her hand and she winked at him, while Aziraphale watched in fascination.

Once Aziraphale had gotten Crowley checked in, they went to the waiting room to wait for Crowley to be called back.

Aziraphale already had his nose in a book.

“You had a book in your coat pocket?” Crowley asked, amused.

“Are you new? _Yes_. I always have a book with me. One must endeavor to be prepared for any instance,” Aziraphale said, turning the page.

“Of impromptu reading?”

“It worked out, didn’t it?” Aziraphale smiled smugly.

Crowley sighed, rolling his eyes. “Fine. You’re right.”

Crowley was called back, instructing the nurses to let Aziraphale know what was going on before he did so. Aziraphale went back to reading his book, though he wasn’t getting very far with it. It wasn’t that he was worried about Crowley, per-se, but in a general sense, he had some concerns. That was perfectly natural, wasn’t it?

After what seemed like an eternity, though most like had been considerably shorter had Aziraphale bothered to pay attention to the time they arrived, a nurse came out to speak with him.

“Mr. Cowwley’s scans were _very_ good,” the nurse explained. “No infection, just the one broken tooth. His jaw bone looks really great. He was an excellent candidate for an implant today, which they’re working on now.” She continued to explain the process to Aziraphale, as well as the aftercare Crowley would need, giving him some paperwork.

Aziraphale texted Didi to let her know they’d be done soon.

Crowley came through the double doors, flanked on either side by the dentist and another nurse in storm grey scrubs and red scrub caps.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Crowley said, looking around with a dazed expression. “Could do with some pot plants. Maybe a coffee table.”

The nurse snorted, trying not to laugh.

Aziraphale stood up to approach them.

“Angel!” Crowley cried out excitedly. “Look, g-guys, it’s an angel. A real fuckin’ angel, right here in… whatever this place is.”

“You’ve got your hands full with this one, mate,” the dentist said.

“We can start a Barbershop quartet!” Crowley said with delight.

Aziraphale and the nurse both snorted at that. “Was he much trouble?” Aziraphale asked.

“Nah,” the dentist said, waving a hand. “Took it all like a champ, but it took a _lot_ to keep him from feeling the work. He’s going to be out of it for at least a few hours. Likely to say all sorts of mad things. Don’t think too much about it, though. It’s perfectly normal.”

“If you’ll head over to the desk, I’ll get you some more paperwork for follow up care. His prescriptions have already been called in to the chemist,” the nurse said.

“Is someone sick?” Crowley asked. “I’ll, uh, send them a pot plant. That’s a nice thing when you’re sick. But it doesn’t have to wait until then,” Crowley said, eyes wide as he shook his head at the nurse. “You can enjoy plants _all year long_!” Crowley immediately became distracted by the Ficus in the corner. “How often do you water this?” He asked, concern very evident in his voice.

“It’s plastic,” the nurse at the desk said.

Crowley’s brows furrowed. “Answer my question.”

“I’m certain they water it as often as it needs, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, taking him by the hand and guiding him away just as Didi walked in.

Crowley lit up. “Angel! It’s Dagon! The Lord of the Files!”

Aziraphale offered her a look of apology. “Um, yes. We, we’ve met, Crowley. I know Didi.”

Didi rolled her eyes, coming over to take his other arm. “Yes, yes. I’m some eldritch horror.” She nodded to Aziraphale. “Nice to see you again, Aziraphale.”

Through some arrangement of miracles, Didi and Aziraphale managed to wrangle Crowley into the back seat of Didi’s car and headed to pick up Crowley’s prescriptions.

“Are we going to have to bring him in to get his medication?” Didi asked.

“I’ll pop in to collect it,” Aziraphale said. “The nurse told them to expect me.”

“Right,” Didi said, nodding. “I’ll keep an eye on this one, then.”

Aziraphale went inside, picking up both Crowley’s medication along with a few other things while he waited. When he returned to the car, he noticed that Crowley was, quite animatedly, recounting some wild tale to Didi, complete with broad waves of his arms.

“And you’ll never guess, not in a million years, what he used to juice it with,” Crowley said, his native Scottish accent fully coloring his words as Aziraphale climbed into the back seat next to him. “Go on, Angel, tell her. Tell her how you juiced that pear.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he caught a glimpse in the rear-view mirror of Didi’s own wide eyes of delight.

“Yes, _do tell, Angel_ ,” she said, turning around with a toothy grin.

“Oh, I, um, I’m afraid I don’t know quite what the two of you are talking a—”

“It was my penis!” Crowley near shouted, moving his hand as if he were juicing an orange on an imaginary manual juicing tool. “It was like… Like Willy Wank’em’s Juice Factory, and I had _a Golden Ticket_!”

“Ah,” Aziraphale laughed nervously. “Well, you, you see, we, um, he and, er, and I, we—"

“Relax, book-boy,” Didi said, tilting her head. “I handle his accounts, appointments, and his errands. I know where his money goes as well as where _he_ goes. I know how he takes his coffee and how you take your tea. Who do you think drops off your breakfast orders when you stay over? I already _knew_ you two had a shagging arrangement. I just didn’t know it was also an _edible_ arrangement,” Didi said with a laugh.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, still mildly shocked by the revelation. “Oh, I see. Well, then.”

“So,” Didi began, “Where am I taking you? Am I putting Crowley to bed after I drop you off, or will you do that and then I give you a lift somewhere, or how did you want to do this?”

Crowley cuddled up against Aziraphale in the back seat, nuzzling his face into Aziraphale’s neck. “Stay with me? I don’t want to be alone.” Crowley continued to attempt to melt into Aziraphale as much as his safety belt would allow him to. “I need snuggles. I’m… sick? No, I’m not, but I don’t feel right. Need you to take care of me. You take such good care of me, Angel.”

Aziraphale grinned, huffing out a quiet breath as he pressed a kiss to the top of Crowley’s hair. “Of course,” he said quietly, smoothing Crowley’s hair down with his hand. “I suppose that’s sorted,” he said a bit louder. “You can drop us both off at his flat and I’ll make sure he gets to bed.”

“You’re a good friend, you know that?” Crowley’s voice was muffled by the face-full of Aziraphale’s stomach where he had managed to lean down to grip around Aziraphale’s waist and squeeze.

“You two are so incredibly _stupid_ ,” Didi muttered under her breath as she rolled her eyes and continued on to Mayfair.

Crowley looked up just in time to see the Golden Arches ahead. “Can we go to McDonald’s? Aziraphale needs chickem nuggers and _you_ need a Happy Meal.”

“Fine,” she said, turning into the parking lot. “But I’m getting a fish sandwich instead.”

“Get two! Anything you want. Just make sure you get my Angel all the nuggets and honey he can eat.”

“I know, I know,” she said as she opened the car door to go inside.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh. “You don’t have to do that.”

Crowley lifted his head, pupils dilated and eyes not quite tracking together. “Don’t you like it when I buy you nuggets, Angel?”

“Of course, I do,” Aziraphale smiled down at him warmly. “But you don’t have to buy things for me to like you. I like you even when you don’t.”

“You do?” Crowley asked with a dopey grin.

“Yes, I do, very much so.”

“Good,” Crowley said, burrowing back into Aziraphale’s side. “I love you, too.”

Aziraphale stilled, wondering if he had misheard.

Crowley hummed to himself quietly, snuggling up against Aziraphale while waiting on Didi to return with a tray with three drinks and two bags. “I didn’t imagine he could have anything with a straw, but I got him a coffee just in case. Got you your regular tea order,” she explained, placing the tray down in the front seat and starting the car.

“Dagon,” Crowley said.

Didi rolled her eyes.

“Dagon. Dagon. _Dagon_!” Crowley repeated.

“That’s not my name,” Didi said, glancing up into the rear-view mirror.

“D-Doorbell.”

“That’s not it, either,” she said, continuing to drive. “But good on your for trying.”

After a few minutes, Crowley tried again. “ _Didi_! It’s _Didi!_ Didi, Didi, Didi, _Didi_!”

Didi pulled the car over to the side of the road and cut the engine, practically flinging herself around to glare at him. “ _What_? What is it _now_?”

“I love you,” Crowley said, reaching out to touch her face with a ridiculous grin as he tried to focus his eyes on her.

 _Ah_ , Aziraphale thought. _It must have been the medication._

“Oh,” Crowley said, excitement dawning on him. “I’m a serpent, and you’re a… Well, I don’t know quite what you are, but you’re really quite frightening. We should get married and have little wriggly terrifying mutant babies.”

Didi scoffed through her nose, but said nothing, glancing up at Aziraphale.

“No, that won’t work,” Crowley said. “They’d either have no legs or all of them.” He brightened suddenly. “But you could be the nanny, Angel! Or better yet, maybe you and Didi could have little golden fish babies, and _I_ could be the nanny! I’ve got just the right outfit. I’ll try it on for you later. I’m certain you’ll think of something weird to do to me in it.”

Aziraphale and Didi looked at one another with a blend of shock, horror, and incredible amusement.

“Makes you wish you were recording this, doesn’t it?” Didi asked with a grin.

“Oh, good Lord, yes. I’d never have to watch another terrible action film again with this level of blackmail.”

Aziraphale and Didi both turned to look at Crowley, who was incessantly tapping each of them on their shoulders.

“Hey, uh, you, um, you two. Your babies would be goldfish, and they could live with Cleo,” Crowley said. “She could be their governess, like, and they could make clothing from the curtains, or something. Saw that in a film. But you have to take the curtain rod out first or you look silly.” Crowley looked between them blankly for a moment. “But I’m going to need more plants and water.”

Aziraphale, through the cunning use of a series of whistles and hand-holds, navigated them through Crowley’s building and up to his flat.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Aziraphale said, helping Crowley into his bedroom, food and drink all but forgotten on the coffee table.

“Hang on there, Sailor,” Crowley said. “I’m supposed to… Uh, someone is supposed to buy the other dinner first.”

“You already did that.”

“Did I?” Crowley asked in confusion. “I don’t think I did.”

“You did,” Aziraphale repeated. “Chicken nuggets.”

“Oh, you love chicken nuggets,” Crowley said with excitement.

“You know me so well,” Aziraphale smiled, sitting Crowley down on the bed and attempting to remove his shoes.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, affecting the poshest accent he could, “I need for you to draw me a bath."

Aziraphale looked at him skeptically. “Can I trust you alone while I do so?”

“Angel, this is a very nice hotel room. I wouldn’t want to pay to have something like that repaired. Yes, you can have me. “

“I didn’t ask you that, Crowley.”

“Aziraphale, I need for you to draw me a bath.”

“Crowley—”

“Bath?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, fine,” he said. “But you’re coming with me so I can keep an eye on you after we get these trousers off.”

“Whee!” Crowley said, falling back on the bed.

Trousers off, Crowley sat up before Aziraphale could get anything else off. “I want to do the rest,” he said.

They went into the bathroom, Aziraphale filling the tub and picking out the fragrances Crowley liked to mix best while Crowley pulled his shirt over his head.

Aziraphale’s head jerked up at the flash of movement beside him.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale said, reaching over to grab Crowley by the waist. “You’ve still got on your socks, pants and vest!”

“The water is ready _now_ , Aziraphale. I don’t have time. I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” Crowley’s voice trailed off as he relaxed in Aziraphale’s arms.

Aziraphale sighed in relief. “Thank goodness.”

The relief was short-lived, however, when Crowley slipped out of Aziraphale’s loosened grip and climbed up onto the bottom edge of the tub. “I remember now. It’s Holy water, Angel. I’m gonna get all holy and whole. A wholly holy hole for you to bless with your angelic rod,” he grinned, wincing suddenly and reaching up to hold his sore jaw. “Ow. Loving you makes my face hurt so much, but it’s worth it. Fuck, I love you so fucking… So… My hole is gonna be so holy for you.”

Aziraphale watched in horror as Crowley fell backwards into the water.

“No!” Crowley shrieked, clutching the sides of the tub to keep his head above the water while keeping his legs sticking straight up over the sides. “I can’t get my socks wet!”

“Well, for-for Heaven’s sake,” Aziraphale said, struggling to pry Crowley out of the tub. “Take them _off_ first.”

Crowley looked Aziraphale in the eye and spoke with far more depth and gravitas than anyone as high on dental drugs should have. “Bring me _… A rubber duck_.”

After a most eventful struggle to either remove Crowley from the tub and remove the clothing from his body in no specific order, Aziraphale dried him off, combed his hair, and put him in bed. Aziraphale smiled as Crowley’s eyes drifted shut, reaching over to smooth a wet strand of hair back on his forehead.

Blurry eyes flew open. Crowley no longer wanted to sleep. He wanted to _talk_.

And that is exactly what he did, much to Aziraphale’s dismay.

“But, you know, someone like that, doesn’t…” Crowley looked around, searching for words. “They don’t belong with someone like me, you know? Like, like… Oil and vinegar.” Crowley paused. “No, that’s not right. Those pair quite nicely, actually. That, that’s a vinaigrette. Maybe it was vinegar and salt? Oh, no, that’s _delicious_. That’s not a bad match at all.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale said, unsure of what to say next.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale blankly. “What was I talking about?”

Aziraphale sighed, his forehead tensed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You were explaining to me, in exquisite detail, that an actual romantic relationship between you and your angel would be absurd.”

“Well, it would, wouldn’t it? I mean, you’ve got me over here, yeah? And he’s _way_ over there,” Crowley exaggeratedly threw his arms wide.

Aziraphale’s chin quivered. _It’s the medication talking, don’t forget that. The doctor told you this could happen._

“Shame. Damn shame, too, you know?” Crowley said.

“What’s that?” Aziraphale asked, his hand over his eyes as he leaned on his elbow in the bed next to Crowley.

“Well, I love him. That’s, that’s no good. It’s, it’s not idea. I deal. Ideal. No, actually, I _do_ deal with it. It’s, it’s a bit ridiculous, really. Do you know how much shit I got from the Germans over a, a fucking fish? I mean to them. Just a fish to them. But Cleo is so much more than, uh, than a fish. She’s like, something we have _together_. And they made fun of me. But don’t tell Aziraphale about that. I don’t want him to know.”

Aziraphale looked at the ceiling to gather strength from a random tile after already exceeding his allotment from any sort of higher power. “I won’t, but I have it on good authority that he already knows.”

“Nah,” Crowley said. “Couldn’t know. Doesn’t know I love him, now, does he? Can’t tell him, either, and do you know why?” Crowley asked, pointing at Aziraphale and waiting for a response.

Aziraphale scrubbed his hands across his face. “Why?”

“Not part of the Great Blasted Plan. Every time I try to tell him, something happens. Gotta… Gotta remember where someone like me belongs, and it’s not with someone like _that_.” Crowley sighed, unfocused eyes trying to track Aziraphale’s face as he sat up. “Bloody beautiful idiot bastard. Do you have any idea how fucking _miserable_ this makes me?”

“I’m beginning to, yes.”

Crowley flopped back on the bed. “Met him in the Garden. D’you know it?”

Aziraphale nodded sadly.

“All went to shit, like it was meant to, I suppose, after that. Great blasted plan, and all that. But then, get this, right, okay, he, uh, I found him again. The universe or God or Satan or _Someone_ was playing a cruel joke on me, and anyone who says they don’t play games is a bloody liar. So, it was, months later, almost a year, but not quite, and I’m at the Garden again. You will never, not in six thousand years, guess who I ran into again.”

“Your angel?”

Crowley’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “Y-yeah. How did you know?”

“Luck of the devil,” Aziraphale said, tersely.

“Anyway, I, uh, I was trying to avoid him, but some stuff happened and anyway, he was so fucking beautiful standing there under the stained-glass windows. I literally fell over myself I was so overcome.”

Aziraphale opened his red-rimmed, glossy eyes to look at Crowley.

“And then some Nazis showed up, and I had to blow up the whole lot of them, the church, too. But you saved us both. You were so happy I saved your books. Do you remember, Angel? Do you remember standing in the burning church with me? I’ll never forget that. Should have kissed you right then, in the middle of all that rubble and fire. Finding you again was the best and worst thing to ever happen in my life, next to you giving away that burning book.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes again, letting his head fall back against the pillow with a sniff. “You know,” he said softly, keeping his eyes closed. “You almost had me fooled for a moment there.” Aziraphale let out a shaky sigh. “For a moment, I _almost_ believed you were remembering this.” He opened his eyes and turned his head. “I _almost_ believed you loved me.”

“But I _do_.”

“Crowley, there were no Nazis. There was no burning church. None of that happened. We didn’t—"

Aziraphale’s words were cut off when Crowley leapt out of bed, rushing over to where his jacket was hanging. He pulled out his wallet, opening the secret compartment to take out a slip of paper. He unfolded it and handed it to Aziraphale, kneeling in the floor before him.

“This…” Aziraphale ran his fingers over the eagle silhouette at the top of the invoice. “This is the receipt for my books,” Aziraphale whispered.

“I kept it!” Crowley near-shouted. “It’s a, a, it’s a remembery. That thing where you ‘member a rememory.” Crowley lowered his face, looking up at Aziraphale. “I never want to forget to love you.”

“Crowley, _stop_ this,” Aziraphale said, folding the paper back up and placing it on the night table. “You don’t… You don’t _mean_ any of this. You’re hallucinating. You don’t love me.”

“I love my angel. Are you not my angel?”

Aziraphale stared at Crowley, tears stinging his eyes _. This is unfair,_ he thought. He swallowed thickly, painfully, and took Crowley’s face between his hands. “It’s not your fault, but your words _hurt_ me. If you only knew how very much I…” Aziraphale paused, letting out a shallow breath as he looked up and around. “Crowley,” he began again, tilting his head sadly as he looked into the unfocused eyes before him, “I love you. I have for a _very_ long time now. I know you won’t remember anything that has happened this afternoon, but don’t worry. I’ll keep it secret so you don’t have to be embarrassed for me.” Aziraphale bit his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowing as he sniffed harshly, holding his breath for a moment after before he continued, “And so you don’t have any reason to pity me for wishing what you’ve said were true.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, his voice gone low and worried. “Don’t cry. It’ll be okay.” Crowley reached up in an attempt to wipe the tears from Aziraphale’s face, but just patted his cheek gently. “I, uh, I have a best friend, he’s, well, he’s an angel, really. Have I told you about him? Must do. Love him so much. Think I might’ve… Might… Probably loved him when I met him.” Crowley tried to grin conspiratorially, but was once again stymied by padding and pain. “Why does it hurt so much?”

Aziraphale let out a shaky breath. “Because you’ve had dental surgery.”

“I did? Then why are _you_ crying? Did I make it?”

Aziraphale huffed out a small laugh, wiping his eyes. “Yes, you made it. You’re home now.” Aziraphale looked at him sadly. “Everything’s fine.”

Crowley tried to focus his eyes on Aziraphale. “You don’t _look_ fine.”

“No?”

“No. You look sad.”

Aziraphale sighed, looking up at the ceiling before looking back down at Crowley, forcing a smile. “I suppose I am,” he admitted wearily.

Crowley pouted as far as his sore mouth would allow. “You, you shouldn’t be sad. Someone so beautiful shouldn’t be so sad.” Crowley’s eyes widened in panic. “Not telling you how to feel, though. Just saying…” Crowley leaned his head back. “What was my point?”

“You need to _rest_ , Crowley.”

Crowley smiled, a bit softer this time. “You really are beautiful,” he said as he reached up to touch Aziraphale’s face. “You remind me of someone. _Fuck_ , he’s _gorgeous_. He, uh, he takes such good care of me. He… I’m sure if you ask nicely, he’ll take care of you, too, so you don’t have to be sad.” Crowley struggled to stand up. “Let’s go find him. You should meet him. I think you two would like one another.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes tightly as he bit the knuckle of his right hand while his left tightened its grip on Crowley’s pajamas. “Stop, _please_. Just, Crowley, just calm down and lie down. I’m already here. I’m _right here_. I’ve been right here this _whole time_.”

“What?” Crowley asked blankly.

“Get back in bed,” Aziraphale sighed heavily.

“Hmm… ‘Kay. You lie down with me.”

“I can do that,” Aziraphale said, sniffling again as he wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his hand.

“Hold me?” Crowley asked, snuggling up to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale nodded, pulling him close as his tears disappeared into Crowley’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey...
> 
> _I know._  
>  This isn't how you wanted this to happen. But it _was_ foretold, as you'll discover in another chapter.
> 
> Just remember, as we get closer to the end of this story, there is a rather nice and accurate happy ending coming. But we still have a few more chapters to go.


	14. Damn Big Brains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monstro lurks, and what a whale of a tale it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mild panic attacks and a lot of confusion on what things mean.  
> Bondage/Shibari art

Crowley’s eyes opened slowly as the mattress shifted. He was far too groggy to process what was happening. Had his mind been a bit clearer, he would have realized that was due both to the dental work done the afternoon prior as well as having just been woken up. As it was, however, that did not register. All he was aware of was that Aziraphale was getting out of bed.

“That’s the fastest you’ve ever gotten dressed,” Crowley said as he reached over to touch Aziraphale’s back. He was completely unaware that Aziraphale had slept in his clothes, not that he actually had done much sleeping that night. “Do you _have_ to go to work?”

“I’m afraid I must do,” Aziraphale said quietly, not turning around as he stood up. “Mustn’t leave it all on Newt.”

“No, I suppose not,” Crowley groaned in agreement. “He’s a good lad.”

“Yes, rather,” Aziraphale agreed, stepping over to arrange papers on top of the dresser. “Quite. You should take it easy today. I’ve left your paperwork here for you to look over when you feel up to it. I’ll talk to you later,” Aziraphale said, just before closing the door behind him.

Groggy and unable to process how very different this morning had been from any of the other mornings he woke up next to Aziraphale, Crowley closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

A few hours later, Crowley woke up properly. He glanced over the aftercare sheets Aziraphale had collected for him, walked into the bathroom, walked right back out upon seeing the carnage, and went down the hall to shower in the hall bathroom. He’d clean up the other later. He had to get ready to take an angel to lunch.

Just before noon, Crowley walked through the front door of the shop.

“Crowley!” Newt exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

Crowley looked at him strangely.

“Oh, sorry,” Newt corrected, looking properly worried. “I didn’t mean… I meant, Aziraphale took the day off. I think he isn’t feeling well. He looked absolutely _dreadful_ when I came in.”

“Oh,” Crowley said with a frown, pulling his phone out to text Aziraphale.

> **Could I tempt u  
>  2 a spot of lunch? **
> 
> **I could drink my  
>  meal and watch  
>  u eat cake**
> 
> **No, thank you.**
> 
> **We’ve been quite  
>  busy at the shop.  
>  I’m afraid I can’t  
>  find the time to  
>  get away.**
> 
> **Terribly sorry.**

Crowley’s brow furrowed with concern. It wasn’t like Aziraphale to lie to him. At least, he _thought_ it was unlike him.

“Are you going up?” Newt asked.

Crowley frowned slightly and shook his head as he moved to put his phone back in his jacket.

“Would you like me to let him know you were in?”

Crowley’s phone went off again.

> **I’ll pop in to check  
>  on you after I close.**

Crowley glanced down at the message, both relieved and nervous. “Nah,” he said, holding the phone up with a shrug. “That was him just now. Thanks anyway. I’m gonna go,” he said, walking towards the door without looking back.

As Crowley walked along the pavement, his mind began to wander. Had he said something yesterday that upset Aziraphale? _Was_ he upset? Crowley fretted more and more with each step, so distracted he almost walked past his own building.

A thought occurred to him while he walked upstairs. Crowley smiled as he unlocked the door to his flat, stepping inside. “He said he’d be round to check on me tonight. If the state of the bathroom is anything to go by, I bet he’s just tired from taking care of me, and needed some rest,” Crowley said to Figgs as he picked him up, sauntering into the bedroom to lie down. “He probably didn’t want me to worry over him and make a fuss. He did tell me to take it easy today, after all.”

After Figgs jumped out of his arms, Crowley hung his jacket over the chair and sat down on his side of the bed. He sighed with relief before curling up, pulling the pillow on the side Aziraphale slept to his chest.

In his haste to get into the shower and to the bookshop, Crowley didn’t notice the folded-up slip of paper on the night table on Aziraphale’s side of the bed earlier. Now that he had nowhere to be, it was all he could focus on.

A pooling dread began to fill the hollows of his stomach as he reached towards the slip of paper. He opened it very carefully, his disbelief that it was really there competing with his concern for losing the photo he kept inside of it.

“Oh, **_fuck_**.”

Crowley’s heart sank when he found the paper empty. Immediately, he scrambled into the floor, looking underneath the bed and around the night table in a panic. He began pulling at sheets, emptying pillows from their cases, and pushing the mattress over in his search.

His bed in shambles, Crowley staggered over to the chair where his jacket was, pulling his wallet out. He opened it, removing his chequebook to reveal the hidden opening behind it. Everything else was still there, including the photo, to his immense relief.

“How did this…” Crowley’s question died in his throat as he realized that Aziraphale had likely been the one to put that receipt on the table. Aziraphale had seen it.

Aziraphale had _seen_ it, and was now avoiding him.

Crowley’s mind raced, struggling to try to remember anything he possibly could from the night before. He let out a shaky sigh as he sat down heavily in the chair. He carefully folded the receipt back around the photo of Aziraphale and tucked it back inside, placing his chequebook back into the slot to cover the opening.

Crowley rubbed his hands over his face, letting out a sharp breath. “Right,” he said as he stood up. “Suppose I should go clean up that mess.”

Under normal circumstances, tidying up helped pass the time and take Crowley’s mind off of things. This, however, was unlike any other circumstance he had experienced. He didn’t know enough about what had happened to even determine what he could have done differently even if it _had_ been his fault other than the overly-aggressive teeth cleaning habits that had damaged his enamel over time, leaving him vulnerable.

Fear comes in many forms. Crowley had been scared his entire life, though he rarely showed it. Fear was a vulnerability. It was sharp teeth gnashing against delicate skin. He had hardened himself as a protection over time, year after year layering board upon board, locking tongue in groove and tying over them tightly with rope to keep everything together. In spite of Crowley’s best efforts, the fear never left him. It was clever, a predator that continued to swim beneath the dark ocean, waiting for the right moment to swallow him whole.

“Betrayed by my own toothbrush,” Crowley thought momentarily, setting the cup back to rights. He picked up the pair of toothbrushes that had been laying askew on the counter, holding one in each hand as he looked at himself in the mirror. “No, this wasn’t the toothbrush. _You_ fucked up,” he argued with himself, pointing a toothbrush at his own reflection. “You fucked up your teeth, and you fucked up your life.”

Meanwhile, in a flat above a bookshop in Soho, fear had already swallowed an angel earlier that morning.

Aziraphale walked in a daze through the back door of the bookshop. He sat down heavily in the chair at his desk in the back room, staring off into the shallow depths of Cleo’s tank. He listened to the tinkling trickle of the waterfall at the center, letting it carry him in the hopes that the water would soothe the restless thing in his chest. He continued to sit, unmoved, as the early morning sunlight from the windows pushed further across the floor. The sound of the grandfather clock on the wall startled him. He should have opened the shop two hours prior. _Newt will be here soon_ , he thought. _It can wait until then._

Once Newt arrived and the shop opened, Aziraphale elected to take the day off and went upstairs to his flat. He just wanted to sleep, as he hadn’t slept since he woke up the previous morning, but he was unable to settle himself enough to do so.

Aziraphale moped around his flat, listlessly roaming from room to room, unable to focus on any one thing long enough to accomplish anything of value. He decided to take a bath, hoping a soak would at least relax him enough to maybe get some sleep.

He thought wrong.

As Aziraphale sat in the water, he realized it wasn’t his own bath additives that he had used, but those he had for Crowley. As he sat in the amber and rose scented water, he stared at the different potions and notions out on his counter. There were things he walked past every single day, things that would never have been a blip on his radar just two years prior.

“I am surrounded and submerged in things I cannot have,” Aziraphale said bitterly, yanking the plug out of the drain. He glared at the pair of toothbrushes hanging from their little holders on the wall. How ridiculous was it, he wondered, that he was currently angry over the scent of a rose and the sight of a toothbrush?

Aziraphale stood up as the bathtub drained, water sluicing off of him as he angrily snatched a towel off of the bar. His text notification chimed twice. Nearly slipping in the water he carelessly dripped into the floor, he wrapped the towel around his waist to go see who texted him.

Aziraphale glared down at his phone, hot, angry tears fighting their way out of the corners of his eyes at the invitation to lunch. “You’re just everywhere, aren’t you?” He sighed, flinging himself back on the bed. “I don’t think I can handle seeing you right now.”

Aziraphale replied first with a decline. After typing out a response explaining he was not feeling well, a thought occurred to Aziraphale. _If I tell you I’m sick_ , Aziraphale thought _, you’ll come over to take care of me out of some sense of duty, or worse, guilt._ Aziraphale deleted what he had written and came up with an excuse, quickly texting Crowley back. He threw the phone over onto the other side of the bed, covering his face in his hands.

Aziraphale reached over to collect his phone again, sending one more message to reassure Crowley that he would see him that evening, and help encourage him not to come to the bookshop.

“What am I doing?” Aziraphale was dreading the talk he would have to have with Crowley regarding the night before.

After the bookshop closed, Aziraphale decided he wouldn’t be able to put things off for too much longer. He knew Crowley would likely pop in if he had reason to worry. That was part of the problem. Crowley was so _convincingly_ kind. Aziraphale found it entirely too easy to fall into that false sense of security. He shook his head, resigned to his fate, and got dressed to walk to Mayfair.

When Crowley answered the door, he struggled to keep his face neutral as he took in the dark half-moons beneath Aziraphale’s eyes. He smelled nice, but he looked terrible.

The two sat on the couch, awkwardly not actually saying anything while making small talk. Crowley thought perhaps asking about how the bathroom ended up in such a state might have been the best way to begin his line of questioning. There were answers he needed, and he didn’t want to scare Aziraphale off before he got them.

Aziraphale recounted the story of how Crowley _insisted_ upon taking a bath, and all that entailed, while Crowley listened with rapt fascination and attention.

“You demanded a rubber duck.”

Crowley laughed. “That sounds about right,” he said, thinking that was as good as any time to broach the next subject. “Seems that you had your hands full with me. I noticed the receipt on your night stand,” Crowley said as he prepared to pose his question in a seemingly harmless way. “Did I try to get you to pay me back for those books? Because if I did, let me know, and I’ll return it to you. Those were a gift.”

Aziraphale’s eye twitched sharply enough that he had to press his fingertips against his face to stop it. “No, no,” Aziraphale said, looking away. “Nothing of the sort happened.”

Crowley watched him carefully, trying not to hold his breath as he waited for Aziraphale to continue.

Aziraphale let out a long, slow exhale, swallowing harshly at the end as he decided what to say. “When you were arguing with me over who was to buy whom dinner, you tried to dig money out of your wallet and it just…” Aziraphale waved his hand around, unable to look Crowley in the eye. “It fell out.”

Crowley’s eyebrows raised as his mouth formed the words. “Oh.” _That makes twice you’ve lied to me today_ , Crowley thought. “Right,” he nodded, pressing his lips into a line as he did so.

“I didn’t realize what it was, or if it was at all important,” Aziraphale lied again, “So I put it on one of your night stands for you to keep it from getting lost.”

“One of _my_ …” Crowley’s voice trailed off as he looked around, nodding again. It was silly for Crowley to consider anything on the right side of the bed as belonging to Aziraphale when Aziraphale himself didn’t even think of it that way. It was too much, wasn’t it? It was too much for Crowley to think about his things as _Aziraphale’s_ things. Had he accidentally _said_ that last night? Was _that_ why Aziraphale was acting so strangely? “Right, yeah. _My_ night stands.”

They sat quietly, not looking at the other for several minutes, before Aziraphale stood up.

“Well, I suppose I should—”

Crowley quickly stood up after him, cutting him off. “Would you like dinner? I haven’t planned anything to cook, but we could—”

Aziraphale shook his head quickly. “No, thank you, I—”

Crowley’s eyes widened slightly in his panic to keep Aziraphale from leaving. “It’s really no problem, I—”

“I’m not particularly hungry,” Aziraphale said, smiling politely.

“We don’t have to eat. Do you want to watch a movie?” Crowley asked, desperately dreading the moment Aziraphale walked through the door and out of his flat.

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he searched Crowley’s face for the answer to a question he couldn’t bring himself to ask. “You don’t…” His face darkened slightly. “You don’t have to do that,” he said softly, sounding almost wounded as he did so.

Crowley blinked a few times in confusion. “I don’t know what that means, Aziraphale.”

“You don’t have to _do_ that. To keep me here.”

Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. “Oh. Right. I didn’t realize I was _keeping_ you,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and exhaled heavily, rubbing his hand down his face. “That’s not what I meant.” He opened his eyes, meeting Crowley’s own. Where he had expected pity, he found instead confusion and, surprisingly, fear. _You have no idea what happened last night_ , Aziraphale thought as he took in Crowley’s worried expression. _You woke up to a world you didn’t know had changed_. _It isn’t fair for me to treat you as if you’ve done something wrong. Real or not, you had no control over anything that was said._

Aziraphale sighed. “I’m the one who should be apologizing to _you_ , I think,” he said with a penitent smile. “I think perhaps I’m a bit more tired than I realized. I’m sorry for taking that out on you.”

Crowley shook his head rapidly. “No, no, not at all. You haven’t.”

“I _have_ ,” Aziraphale countered with a gentle firmness that stopped Crowley’s protest. “And I shouldn’t have done so.”

Aziraphale watched as a lock of Crowley’s hair fell down across his face. Before he could think better of it, he reached out to tuck it back behind Crowley’s ear.

Crowley closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, covering Aziraphale’s hand with his own. Keeping his eyes closed, he spoke cautiously. “If you would _like_ to stay,” he said, never letting go of Aziraphale’s hand, “I would feel much better that you _did_ stay.”

Aziraphale detested the words coming from his mouth before he could stop them. “I would be terrible company. I haven’t slept, and I’ve been quite tetchy all day.”

“And that’s my fault,” Crowley said quickly, his eyes flying open. “And I’m so, so sorry.”

“No.” Aziraphale said firmly. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” Aziraphale’s jaw clenched as he looked back and forth between Crowley’s eyes.

“Look, A-Angel, whatever happened last night, whatever I did—”

“Was nothing you had any control over,” Aziraphale interrupted, taking Crowley’s face in both of his hands now. “As I said, you did nothing wrong.”

“But _something_ happened.”

Aziraphale’s face softened. “I told you, my dear, I’m tired. Nothing you said or did was _wrong_. There was simply quite a bit of it, and it was a lot all at once. It’s nothing for you to worry over, all right?”

Crowley said nothing, biting his lip and looking back and forth between Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Do you really want me to stay?”

Crowley nodded between Aziraphale’s hands.

“I have to say, I don’t think I’m up to doing anything tonight,” Aziraphale sighed.

“No, no, s’fine, Angel,” Crowley said, holding his hands up. “I’m not supposed to right now anyway. I read the paperwork. Supposed to wait a couple of days to make sure everything starts healing right. I’m not asking you to stay for sex. I just,” Crowley sighed. “I just wanted to spend some time with you. ‘M worried about you, is all.”

Aziraphale found nothing insincere in Crowley’s expression. _You are now, and have always been, my friend,_ he thought. _As easy as it was for me to fall in love with you, I shouldn’t have forgotten that most important part._ Aziraphale smiled warmly at him. “I’m sorry I’ve worried you. I would like to stay, very much, thank you.”

Crowley visibly relaxed into a soft smile. “Good. Now let’s get you something to eat.”

Aziraphale was worried about Crowley. It was easier than worrying over himself, anyway. For the past week, Crowley had been on pins and needles, though it was obvious he was trying to hide that. They both had, in their own way, been acting unusual, and with good reason. He knew Crowley was skeptical of his explanation of the events of that night after his dental surgery, but he couldn’t bring himself to explaining the truth and having it confirmed either way.

Aziraphale knew there were ways he could help Crowley to relax, and that comforted him. It was something Aziraphale could do, something he had _control_ over, and that was a soothing thought. Aziraphale came up with a plan.

After dinner, Aziraphale invited Crowley back to the bookshop to put his plan into action.

Aziraphale turned on a reading lamp, adjusting the shade to point to a wall. He brought his wingback chair over, placing it in the spotlight facing the wall.

“What’s this?” Crowley asked.

“I would like you to remove all of your clothing and then come sit in my lap. Be a dear, would you?”

Crowley grinned. “Gladly,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head. “What do you plan to do to me this time?” Crowley asked, his voice muffled before he managed to pull the shirt off, hair messy and everywhere.

Aziraphale laughed. “I’d like to tie you up and hang you from this pole,” he said, pointing to the horizontal bar that ran overhead.

“Is that going to hold me?” Crowley asked.

“Gabriel does pull-ups and chin-ups on it regularly,” Aziraphale reassured him. “And he’s a good two stones heavier than you. It’s solid. There’s no water, gas, or other running through it.”

“Oh, all right, then,” Crowley said, fully naked as he climbed into Aziraphale’s lap and presented his wrists.

Aziraphale held up a small black and red snake toy, folding it up and squeezing it once, then releasing it to make a noise.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “No. I draw the line at squeaky toys, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale smirked in a way that set fire to whatever it was pooling in Crowley’s stomach. “Relax. That isn’t what it’s for.”

Crowley arched his eyebrow questioningly.

“I would like you to _hold_ this, please,” Aziraphale said, tucking it into Crowley’s fist. “If you release your grip, this will make a noise to get our attention.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, somewhat relieved. “Then what?” Crowley asked.

“What comes next depends upon whether or not you’ve noticed the sound.”

Beginning with Crowley’s hands and wrists, Aziraphale carefully bound Crowley at strategic locations along his body and limbs, suspending him from the metal bar above the chair by thick, red cords with golden fibers woven through them. Once he was happy with his handiwork, he carefully scooted his chair back so that Crowley could hang unimpeded.

“Are you quite comfortable?” Aziraphale asked.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Crowley said. “This feels wonderful on my back.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. Do you have your snake held comfortably?”

“I do, yes.”

“Would you be so kind as to relax your grip for me?”

Crowley relaxed, causing the toy snake to hiss.

“Excellent,” Aziraphale said. “You’ve done so well for me. Now, please squeeze it again, just as you were before. There’s a dear,” Aziraphale said, tracing his hands down Crowley’s body before sitting down in his chair. “I’ll be right here next to you, reading my book,” he said, reaching over to scratch Crowley’s scalp gently, slipping his fingers down through Crowley’s hair.

“Don’t you want to play with me?” Crowley asked, viewing Aziraphale’s face upside down from his hanging position.

“Ah, this is for _you_ , for you to relax. But don’t worry. I’m getting plenty out of it, too. You make for a lovely ornament, hanging like this.” Aziraphale grinned, scrunching up his nose. “Quite pleasing to the eye.” Aziraphale removed his hand, causing Crowley to swing back and forth slightly from the motion.

Crowley smiled, relaxing under the gentle sway as he hung there. “What are you reading?”

“One of your favorites,” Aziraphale replied quietly, tracing a finger along the curve of Crowley’s nose. “The Adventures of Pinocchio.”

“You know, that book is a lot different from the animated film,” Crowley warned.

“I do, yes,” Aziraphale chuckled softly. “I’ve read it before. I thought you might like me to read it to you now.”

“I would, yeah,” Crowley said, closing his eyes to listen.

Aziraphale’s voice was so rich and soothing as he read the words of one of Crowley’s most beloved childhood stories. Crowley settled as the words entered his ears, vibrating the delicate bones and sending waves of relaxation through his entire body as he hung there, suspended in the spotlight.

_I’ll stay here forever and be your puppet. Tie my strings to your fingers and move me however you like. Anything you want, I’ll do. I’ll be so good for you. I will. I promise. Just let me **be** here, with **you**. Keep me. Claim me. Make me yours forever and always. Don’t ever let me go. I don’t want to go._

_I don’t want to go._

Crowley’s warm, wet eyes stared blankly at Aziraphale.

_Don’t let me go._

Aziraphale, noticing the way Crowley had begun to breathe shallowly and erratically, grew concerned. He saw that Crowley’s grip on the snake was tighter. “Color?”

When no acknowledgement came, Aziraphale shifted around and gently tapped Crowley on the wrist twice. “Crowley, are you all right?”

“Ngk! Great!” Crowley said quickly, his voice cracking as his head jerked up. “Never better.”

“I think, perhaps, you’ve had enough. It’s time to bring you down, now.” Aziraphale reached for the bindings.

“No!” Crowley cried out, his eyes wild and desperate as they tracked across Aziraphale’s face. “I need more time!” Crowley closed his eyes, hoping Aziraphale wouldn’t notice the wetness in them. “ _Please_ , Angel. Just let me have a _little_ more time before it’s over.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed as he pursed his lips in consideration. He wanted to respect Crowley’s autonomy, but something didn’t feel right about this. “I think,” Aziraphale said, pulling the chair back over beneath where Crowley was hanging, “That if you are to remain in your bindings longer, that I would prefer to sit here.”

Aziraphale sat down in the chair, scooting it up so that Crowley was hanging against his chest and lap. Aziraphale lifted his arms up, bringing them around Crowley’s shoulders and thighs, and held onto the cords suspending him, rocking him gently.

“Is this all right?” Aziraphale asked after a moment.

Crowley nodded jerkily and leaned his head over against Aziraphale, looking up at him silently with wide, plaintive eyes. Aziraphale smiled kindly down at him.

It was soothing to be held in this way. It helped ground Crowley. His pulse and breathing slowed. He was already beginning to calm down as Aziraphale pulled him closer. Crowley felt lips against his forehead as he nuzzled against Aziraphale’s chest and closed his eyes.

_I've got strings, but entre nous  
I'd cut my strings for you_

When Crowley opened his eyes again, he found himself unbound by cord, instead wrapped up in strong arms. He was on a soft mattress and an even softer angel beneath a thick, warm quilt. He smiled at the familiar, rhythmic breathing and quiet snoring coming from the one pressed all around him, sleeping peacefully.

“I love you,” Crowley whispered, settling in to go back to sleep.

One of their regular habits had been visiting theaters to view plays at least once a month. They generally decided what to see based on a coin toss, owing to the fact that Crowley was not a fan of the gloomy ones, though Aziraphale loved a nice, angsty soliloquy. When selecting the play they would see this particular evening, Aziraphale had won. Crowley sat through with much more patience than he had in the past, Aziraphale noticed. While it was nice to be able to watch the play unimpeded, he found he quite missed some of Crowley’s usual playful bickering over the plot. When intermission came, Aziraphale was eager to leave the auditorium so that he might be able to get some sort of conversation out of Crowley.

“Is something wrong?” Aziraphale asked. “You’ve been quiet all night.”

“Are you thirsty? I’m a bit parched, personally," Crowley said, obviously avoiding the question. "I’m going to go get a drink. Would you like one?”

“I could go with you.”

“No need. I’ve got two hands. You stay, look at the posters, see what’s coming up so you can cheat your way through the next coin flip,” Crowley said, pulling his sunglasses down with a wink before turning around.

“Foul fiend,” Aziraphale said, his affront tempered by the banter he had been so craving all evening.

Aziraphale’s attention was shifted suddenly at a tap on his shoulder.

“Hello, there,” a petite, dark-haired man with a broad smile said.

“Hello,” Aziraphale greeted cautiously in return, trying to place why he seemed familiar.

“I noticed you watching the play,” the man smiled, tilting his head to the side as he looked Aziraphale up and down appreciatively.

“That is generally the done thing when one purchases a ticket,” Aziraphale said, _unappreciative_ of the way the man was looking at him. Aziraphale wondered why the man had been watching _him_ instead of the play. Recognition finally caught up with him. “ _Oh_ , you’re, you were playing the part of Hamlet, were you not?

The man grinned, nodding. “Are you enjoying it?”

“Oh, yes, quite,” Aziraphale replied honestly. He was enjoying _the play_ , at least. “Thank you,” Aziraphale said, shifting away.

The man moved to step around in front of Aziraphale. “And what does your _friend_ think?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale smiled, “We’re not _friends_ ,” he said, trying to correct the mistake. They were so much more than friends, weren’t they? Whether or not Crowley felt the same way, he recognized that Crowley did at least care for him more than the average person, even if not romantically. More than that, Aziraphale knew how he personally felt for Crowley, and that meant something to him. _Regardless_ of what they were, Aziraphale wanted to be certain this man knew he was spoken for. “We—”

Aziraphale’s thought process stopped upon seeing Crowley just past the man before him, eyebrows furrowed over his dark glasses. He watched with dawning realization of what that must have looked like as Crowley placed the two drinks in his hands down on the table next to him to walk away. Quickly, he ran after him. “We’ve never met before. We don’t know each other,” Aziraphale tried to explain as he caught up to Crowley. “I know what that _looked_ like. I know what you’re _thinking_ , but—”

“I think you should get on with your evening,” Crowley said quietly. “Don’t let me get in the way.”

“In the way of what? I told you, I don’t know him.”

“But you _could_. I saw the way he was looking at you. He very clearly wants to get to know _you_.”

“But _I_ don’t want to get to know _him_.”

“Don’t do that,” Crowley said, tilting his head to the side with a disgruntled curl of his lip in an attempt to hide his true expression. “You don’t need to spare my feelings.”

“Your feelings? Wait a moment,” Aziraphale’s eyes widened slightly, though he dared not to hope for any deeper meaning. “Are you _jealous_?”

“Wha-w-what do I have to be jealous about? We aren’t, we aren't _together_ ,” Crowley sputtered, his fool heart and traitorous mouth working together against his better judgement. Even on a good day, his better judgement wasn’t all that great to begin with, as was evidenced by his next brilliant saving move. “We aren’t even _friends_ , remember?” Well, if he were going to throw a pity party about this, he might as well go all in.

“I only told him that because…” Aziraphale’s voice trailed off as he processed what Crowley had said beyond the first reflex. Aziraphale wanted to explain that he was here with _Crowley_ and would be leaving _with_ Crowley, because they were _more_ than friends, but it appeared that perhaps he was mistaken. Aziraphale was leaning more and more towards believing Crowley’s medically-induced confessional truly was more hallucination than honesty, and that maybe he really _did_ mean it when he said they didn’t belong together. Aziraphale quietly began to push down any hopes of anything more than just an arrangement once again. “Because I wasn’t interested in him,” Aziraphale quietly continued, trying to come up with something to save face, “And I thought perhaps he would leave me alone if he thought _we_ were _more_ than friends.” That seemed safe enough, he thought, to keep Crowley from getting the wrong idea, that he wanted a _real_ relationship. Which, unfortunately, was the _right_ idea, but Aziraphale had deduced that was the _last_ thing Crowley wanted from him.

Crowley wondered if a heart that was breaking made an audible noise. That was the only way he could describe the sound that worked its way out of his throat. He attempted to clear his throat to cover it. “Right,” he said, attempting to play it cool, as if everything was fine. “That makes sense.”

“I really wasn’t interested in him.” Aziraphale didn’t know why he was insisting this to Crowley, as it didn’t matter. But, then again, it _was_ the truth, and that was reason enough, he supposed.

“You can do whatever you like,” Crowley said. He meant it, too. If Aziraphale wouldn’t be happy with him, he didn’t want to be the reason he couldn’t be happy with someone else.

“I’d like to go back to our seats to finish the play,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Intermission is almost over.”

“Right, uh, I, uh, I’ll be there in a mo,” Crowley said, headed towards the exit.

“Where are you going?” Aziraphale asked, stepping quickly to catch up.

“I’m not leaving,” Crowley reassured him. “I’m just…” He rolled his eyes with a sigh. “I was going to duck out and see if I could get a cigarette from one of the other smokers.”

“ _Other_ smokers?” Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I thought you said you quit.”

Crowley turned around. “I absolutely did _not_ say that. I said I _rarely_ smoked anymore. And that should be evident in that I want one _now_ , but do not _have_ one, because I keep mine at home in the freezer.”

“Why do you want to smoke now, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, knowing full well he should leave it alone before someone’s feelings, probably his own, were hurt.

“Just let it go.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed exasperatedly.

“You know what? You’re right,” Crowley said, throwing his hands in the air. “I don’t even want one anymore. Let’s go back to our seats and sit and _wait_ until he gets back on stage,” Crowley said, turning around to take Aziraphale’s hand and stalk back towards the auditorium. “I, for one, am quite curious about what he has to _offer_.”

Aziraphale jogged to keep up with Crowley’s long legs, finally giving up just before they reached the door. He stopped, acting as an anchor and bringing Crowley to a bit of a jerky halt in the process. “Crowley,” Aziraphale said, clasping Crowley’s right hand in between his own, “I don’t _want_ to see what he had to offer me.”

“You _could_ , though, if you,” he sniffed, scratching the tip of his nose with his free hand, “If you wanted. That’s my point.”

“Why ever would I want someone else when I have you?” Aziraphale said, the words slipping out before he could catch them. “What we have,” Aziraphale continued nervously as he attempted to rearrange his words into another meaning, “It’s, it’s rather convenient, and far _safer_ , wouldn’t you agree?”

Aziraphale scanned Crowley’s face for something. He didn’t know what, precisely, but he’d try his level best to seek out whatever it was in the shift of an eyebrow or the twitch of a lip.

Aziraphale was pensive over what he found. Did _Crowley_ want to pursue someone else? _Or have you simply grown tired of our arrangement and don’t want to hurt my feelings?_

A thought stabbed at Aziraphale suddenly. Was _Crowley_ interested in the actor? Was that why he had been so quietly focused? Was that why he seemed so upset by the man’s flirting?

“Did...” Aziraphale trailed off, the words colliding with the growing lump in his throat. He attempted to clear it before trying to speak again. “Did _you_ want to,” he swallowed audibly, pulling his hands back to wring them together, “Or, rather, want _me_ to—"

“No,” Crowley pushed out hoarsely.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, looking away. “Jolly good, then. That’s settled. Yes, rather. This is, it’s okay. We needn’t worry about all that other messy business, then,” Aziraphale said, clasping his hands behind his back. “No reason to, to _overcomplicate_ things by adding more variables.”

Crowley nodded weakly, looking at the ground. “Yeah,” he whispered, shoving his fingers in his pockets.

Ultimately, they decided to forego the rest of the play and left the theatre.

 _Whenever I forget, you always find a way to remind me of who I really am,_ Crowley thought. _Convenient. You enjoy my company in a conversation, and you’re very enthused by the way my legs spread for you, but that’s as far as any of it goes, isn’t it? Would we even still **be** friends even if we weren’t…_

 _No,_ Crowley thought _. I shouldn’t think like that. We were friends before this started, and it was my idea to begin with. **Of course** we’d still be friends._

_I just wish I knew what happened that night, and why you lied to me about it._

Crowley looked towards Aziraphale with a slight, but warm smile. He gave a nod towards their destination. Aziraphale, returning his smile, nodded back. Side by side, one pair of hands clasped behind a back and the other tightly fit in pockets, they continued along the pavement.

They stopped at a café for a light dinner, neither having too much to say as they both picked at their meal. Crowley sipped his coffee delicately, watching as Aziraphale selected his bites with an almost critical appearance. There was nothing particularly wrong with the meal, but that wasn’t the point. It was evident to the both of them that in that moment, they were merely going through the motions of a meal neither wanted purely out of habit.

 _You’re just humoring me, aren’t you?_ They both silently thought while unable to look one another in the eye.

After dinner, they made it back to the bookshop, as they had so many times before. Unlike the other times over the last year and some change, the two hesitated by the door.

“Would,” Aziraphale began, clearing his throat suddenly, tension stiffening his spine into a rod as his shoulders drew up, preparing for some unknown _thing_ with the potential to knock him down. “Would you like to come up?”

Crowley’s head was down, but tilted enough to look up at Aziraphale from over the top of his sunglasses. He nodded his head gently in affirmation.

Aziraphale relaxed his shoulders. “Jolly good,” he said, opening the door. “After you.”

Stopping to say hello to Cleo, as was customary, Crowley traced his fingertips along the edge of the tank. He was always glad to see her, to watch her flourish. She was a little golden bit of hope, and in many ways, an extension of the both of them, Crowley thought. She came from humble beginnings, passed around without a concern for her well-being in her early life, like Crowley had been. But she was beautiful, strong, and friendly, like Aziraphale, he thought. Crowley leaned down to peer closer into the tank as she swam up to him. He smiled at her, whispering quietly. “You’re the best of both of us, do you know that, poppet?”

Aziraphale’s heart near-melted when he saw Crowley crouched down in front of the tank. “I’ll be upstairs when you’re ready to join me,” he said gently.

Crowley lifted his head, grinning sheepishly at being caught. “Sorry, yeah, I’ll be right there,” he said, standing up and brushing his knees off.

They walked together up the stairs, entering Aziraphale’s flat. Shoes off and jackets hung, the pair made their way to the kitchen first for a glass of wine, then to the bedroom, undressing for bed.

“Is there anything in particular you want for tonight?” Aziraphale asked, head tilted to the side as he ran his palm in circles on Crowley’s shoulder.

 _I want you to love me,_ Crowley thought inwardly as he looked up into Aziraphale’s eyes _. Just be here with me. Kiss me. Make love to me, wrap your arms around me, tell me you love me, and we’ll fall asleep pressed together while you hold me and never let me go._ Outwardly, Crowley shrugged, shaking his head with a noncommittal hum.

Aziraphale looked between Crowley’s eyes, studying his face. He knew what Crowley usually asked for. He wondered if Crowley wasn’t asking _now_ because he was still upset about earlier. Aziraphale could handle that, he decided.

“Perhaps there _is_ something you’d like that you’re not comfortable asking for right now,” Aziraphale said, nudging Crowley’s legs apart. He saw a flicker of something in Crowley’s eyes, wide open and vulnerable as they were beneath him. “Ah,” Aziraphale said, leaning down to trace the tip of his nose along Crowley’s cheekbone before whispering against Crowley’s lips. “Am I correct?”

Crowley, almost feeling shameful for wanting such a thing from Aziraphale, nodded. He’d deal with his guilt over taking this scrap of an act to wrap around his lonely heart later. Crowley was determined to make love to an angel even if said angel only wanted to fuck.

Crowley pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s, kissing him hungrily. He wrapped his limbs tightly around, slotting his body against Aziraphale as fully as he possibly could to chase the sensation of skin on skin on each and every nerve ending he could bring in between the two of them.

Crowley deepened their kiss, guiding Aziraphale’s hand down between his legs, encouraging him with a gentle, but definite, urgency as he pressed Aziraphale’s fingers to his own entrance. He needed Aziraphale _inside_ of him, and as quickly as possible. He _craved_ Aziraphale. He had an urge to consume and _be_ consumed by him. Crowley wanted to let go of everything holding them apart, even if only for a few fleeting moments, an hour in a single evening.

Aziraphale didn’t know what had gotten into Crowley, but he was eager to be the next thing to do so. He pressed their bodies together, grinding into Crowley’s hips while pushing slick fingers inside of him. They rocked together, Aziraphale swallowing the small, enraptured moans Crowley cried out softy into his mouth as he worked Crowley open. Barely able to pull himself away even long enough to slick himself and get into position, Aziraphale somehow managed to begin the slow, maddening glide inside.

Crowley felt as if he were being connected into a direct current. His body vibrated with currents running up his spine, arching and arcing with the electricity of sensation as it coursed through his body and down his limbs. He gasped, a new surge rushing into him, bringing him higher and higher with each thrust.

It is said that when an apple fell on Sir Isaac Newton’s head, he commented that what goes up must come down. Apples are not the only things affected by the Law of Gravitation. Many other things fall. Trees, feathers, stones, the Roman empire, even roller coasters, both physical and emotional, will eventually come down.

Crowley’s grip on Aziraphale tightened. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, _please_ don’t stop,” he repeated over and over again. _Every time this ends, we’re closer to the end of **everything** , aren’t we? Will this be our last time together? What if this were the last time you ever touched me, kissed me, or held me? How would I know until it was too late?_

Overwhelmed, Crowley closed his eyes tightly, pressing his head back into the pillow. It was all too much.

 _You can’t even look at me_ , Aziraphale thought as his hips hammered harder into Crowley. _Please look at me, Crowley. Open your eyes. Open them. Look at me, Crowley, please. I need to see you_ , Aziraphale begged internally. _Please. I need you to want me. Please, look at me. For the love of God, Crowley, love me, please! I want you to see me. Look at me! Just open your eyes, open your eyes, open your eyes!_

What began as a mantra looping in Aziraphale’s mind started to escape from his lips.

“Open your eyes,” Aziraphale whispered.

Suddenly, Crowley’s eyes flew open wide, locking with Aziraphale’s. His face tensed, mouth open in a gasp. His body lifted to press harshly against Aziraphale as warmth spilled between them.

Unable to look away from one another, Aziraphale stayed between Crowley’s legs as they caught their breath. After several silent minutes, Aziraphale pulled out and got out of bed, walking into the bathroom. He came back with a warm, damp flannel, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Crowley watched as Aziraphale wiped up the mess on Crowley’s stomach and between his legs wordlessly.

Aziraphale felt strange. They both did, which had been evident to Aziraphale more and more each day over the last two weeks since Crowley’s emergency dental work. He looked up from where he was gently wiping the cloth to see Crowley watching as he did so. They both stilled meeting each other’s gaze. _Everything is so different now,_ Aziraphale thought as he found himself hypnotically suspended in the amber of Crowley’s eyes. Aziraphale’s body jerked involuntarily, looking quickly down to see the hand on his wrist that had just squeezed twice. Aziraphale looked back to Crowley’s face, his eyes now wide with concern, to feel another set of squeezes, the first single and short, followed by a firm, long second squeeze.

Aziraphale didn’t know specifically what Crowley was trying to tell him, but he felt comforted by this personal language of their own nonetheless. He smiled down at him, patting his hand atop Crowley’s, lifting it to his lips briefly before standing up to return to the bathroom for a shower. Normally, he would have climbed back into bed to go to sleep, or to wait long enough for Crowley’s legs to be steady enough for them to shower together, and swap out the now dirty towel beneath Crowley for a fresh, clean one next to the bed. This time, Aziraphale simply changed out the towels and got into the shower alone.

He needed a moment. Aziraphale needed _a moment_ , and he needed to time it so that he returned to the bed before Crowley would be steady enough on his feet to get out of it. That gave him just enough time to panic in private.

What was he doing? He had just blurted out what was running through his mind, just like that. What if he had told Crowley he loved him? What then? How humiliating would it have been, for both of them, to embarrass himself like that. He grimaced as he imagined Crowley struggling onto his feet, wobbling around to get dressed. Heaven forbid he fall trying to go down the stairs to leave.

Aziraphale pressed the side of his face against the cool tile of the shower wall. There was nothing else for it. He would have to be more careful in the future. He needed to be more guarded, more _aware_ of his words and actions. It wouldn’t do to get caught up and carried away like that again. There was entirely too much at stake.

Crowley needed a moment as well. His mind was all over the place, but his physical brain was so full of hazy, post-coital warm and fuzzy chemical _bliss_ that he couldn’t even panic about all of that yet. He came close, when Aziraphale looked so _frightened_ when Crowley had reached out at first, but that was okay, wasn’t it? He seemed all right _after_. That was all Crowley wanted, for Aziraphale to be all right after… After _everything_.

Crowley was still too relaxed to feel too guilty for taking what he felt was a solitary emotional experience, but it was coming. Crowley realized he had until the shower stopped to decide what he needed to do. He had just begun to consider his options when the water stopped running. It was much earlier than he anticipated, though he wasn’t certain how he knew that in any measurable way other than he was wholly unprepared. Ever quick on his proverbial feet, Crowley took the only logical course of action. He pretended to be asleep when Aziraphale returned to the bed. Shortly after warm, strong arms wrapped around him, Crowley stopped pretending.

Unable to stay asleep for very long, Crowley awoke to the gentle, rhythmic sound of Aziraphale’s somnolent breathing, Carefully, so as not to wake Aziraphale, Crowley crept out of bed. Feeling a bit peckish after barely eating anything at dinner, he slipped on his robe and went to the kitchen to get an apple. He snorted out a quiet laugh, once again seeing the collection of lewd instant photographs, mostly of himself, affixed to the front of Aziraphale’s refrigerator with red and cream-colored duck magnets. He traced the pad of his thumb gently across an image of Aziraphale’s face with a sigh before turning to head back to the bedroom. Upon taking a bite from his apple, Crowley stopped, considering something he hadn’t thought about in a long time. He turned around to go back into the kitchen. Crowley took a roll from the breadbox, split it with a knife, filled it with a knob of butter and a drizzle of honey, put it on a plate, and headed downstairs instead. He collected a few things from the couch near Cleo’s tank, then walked out of the back room and into the moonlight filtering through the oculus in the bookshop proper.

Crowley spread out the blanket and pillows from the couch directly beneath the central skylight to get comfortable. As he stretched out upon the blanket eating his apple, Crowley looked up through the oculus to see the stars. He had always loved the constellations, even as a small child. He smiled up at the sky when he found what he was looking for. He closed his eyes, remembering a time long past, sitting on his granda’s knee to look at those very same stars.

_“Do ye see that star, Anton?_ _That’s Sirius. Can ye keep a secret, poppet?”_

_“Aye, granda.”_

_“That’s a **wishing** star. Dae ye ken if ye’re kin an guid, the Seelie court, they’ll hear whit ye wish tae bless ye?_”

Crowley remembered the stories he had been told about the Golden Ones, the Seelie Court. They were supernatural warriors of light and honor, the fae that rewarded human kindness with favors, but were fast to right an offense. Crowley knew his past had put him at an incredibly large deficit, ethically speaking. He wondered how much of that moral debt he had been able to work off over the years, donating here and there, never for thanks or profit, and always with the request to remain anonymous whenever he could. Crowley knew things he had done in his past, even though for survival, had harmed others. He thought those actions had made him unworthy and undeserving of so many things for so long. Was it possible, he wondered, that a fae might forgive him and hear his plea now? Would they overlook the things he had done even tonight, if they knew he had done them out of love?

Crowley opened his eyes to look back at the rainbow-colored rays of the star through the glass. He felt silly, yet steadfast in his decision that he had nothing to lose and _everything_ to gain. He held up the uneaten roll, turning it from side to side to display to the empty shop, and placed it back down on the blanket beside him as an offering. He took a shaky breath and released it, followed by one more assured and secure.

“Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I make tonight.” Crowley laughed softly as he spoke into the pale moonlight. “You already _know_ what I want, though, don’t you?” His eyes flickered from the sky over to the section of the upper floor where Aziraphale was sleeping, then back to the star.

“I want him to be happy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay between the chapters, but I had a lot of things fall into my lap while still trying to get caught up. I'm still planning for weekly updates, but I'm currently in a bit of a busy time right now, between over a half dozen zines and getting ready for Ineffable Con 2, I've been slower on these updates because they don't have a finite date on them. That being said, you may have noticed that there is now a chapter count. We're coming up to the end in the near future, but I've already begun writing the next one, in addition to brushing the dust off of Music and Manuscripts to get some more writing done there as well (and Celestial Spektors, too!) You can see some[WIP progress here ](https://www.amadness2method.com/category/wips) as I post more in between projects.
> 
> Speaking of Ineffable Con 2, one of those things that fell into my lap was that I was asked to be part of a panel! Stay tuned to my social media accounts (I'm amadness2method on Instagram, Tumblr, and Twitter) for updates on that, because we are going to be taking questions to answer during the panel in the near future.
> 
> * "Do you know if you're kind and good, the Seelie Court, they'll hear what you wish to bless you?"


	15. Back At It Again...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realizations and blasts from the past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! I’m still suuuuuper busy, but I have really missed posting. I know before I said this one would have the cliffhanger, but I decided that instead of a few massive chapters with too much happening back-to-back, I would up the chapter count to spread this out over a few more chapters so I could go ahead and get back to posting more regularly. Now this might mean once a week, or possibly once every two weeks, but there is enough written that it shouldn’t go longer than 2 weeks between updates until we finish the story.  
> To reiterate, this chapter is not the cliffhanger, and it’s a nice way to ease us all back into the story.  
> I’ve missed you all! Your comments give me life! Even just an emoji or a keysmash makes me grin with delight!

Aziraphale smiled as he opened his eyes. It was still dark, which meant he had time to go back to sleep. But before he could go back to sleep, he needed something tall, lanky, and ginger to hold onto. He rolled over, reaching towards Crowley’s side of the bed only to find it empty and cold.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said, sitting up to peer into the open door to the empty bathroom. A lump began to form in his throat. “Crowley?” Aziraphale repeated, louder and more desperate this time. Though he might have gone to sleep alone, he had never before woken up alone when going to sleep next to Crowley in the past. “Crowley?” Aziraphale cried out almost in a yell as he fumbled trying to get the lamp to turn on.

A loud commotion sounded its way up the stairs, slamming the bedroom door open.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Crowley asked, somewhat out of breath having just run through the bookshop and up the stairs to help his angel with whatever was happening.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale croaked out around the lump in his throat.

“Oh, Angel,” Crowley said, quickly climbing back into the bed to wrap his arms around Aziraphale. “What happened?”

 _I thought you were **gone**_ , Aziraphale wanted to say, but couldn’t. He couldn’t risk something so bold as that. Instead, he tried to keep himself together as Crowley squeezed his arms and rubbed his shoulders in an attempt to soothe him. Aziraphale nearly melted into him, savoring the warm comfort he felt simply by being near Crowley. The soft kiss on top of his head was merely a bonus.

“Can you talk about it?” Crowley asked gently.

“I, um, It’s nothing.”

“Angel,” Crowley said, brushing Aziraphale’s hair back behind his ear, “I could hear you yelling from downstairs in the bookshop.”

“I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale said, embarrassed. “I had a bad nightmare,” he said, hoping that would be as good an excuse as any.

“Oh,” Crowley said, looking away for a moment. “I thought maybe it was…“ Crowley shook his head. “Never mind. What I thought doesn’t matter. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, thank you,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t even remember it, details, anyway. I just remember the feeling.”

“Must’ve been pretty bad for all of this reaction. I’ve never seen you so out of sorts.”

Aziraphale smiled wanly, nodding. “Yes, quite.

After silent and awkward morning, Crowley left for his office and Aziraphale went downstairs to open the shop. It was Newt’s day off. Aziraphale and Gabriel were going over inventory in the back to update a few new items into the system.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Beg pardon?” Aziraphale asked without looking up from where he was writing something down in a notebook.

“You’re not yourself,” Gabriel said.

“How do you mean?”

“You’re too quiet.”

“How is that even quantified? What level of quiet is a reasonable amount? I’m not required to constantly fill the air with words.”

Gabriel’s brow furrowed as he exhaled loudly through his nose. “You’re _always_ chatty after you’ve been to a play, Aziraphale, especially since you’ve been going to them with Crowley.”

“We’re working,” Aziraphale replied with exasperation.

“That’s never stopped you before,” Gabriel replied.

“Fine,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes with a sigh, putting his notebook down to finally look up at Gabriel. “What do you want me to say?”

Gabriel tilted his head to the side. “I… I don’t know. But something is very obviously wrong.”

“Everything is perfectly fine,” Aziraphale said, pursing his lips as he looked off to the side.

“Now I _know_ you’re lying.”

“What, precisely, makes you an expert on that? How is it that you could possibly know better than I do whether or not I’m fine?”

“Thirty years. I’ve known you for thirty years.”

“I’ve known myself far longer,” Aziraphale quipped coolly.

“ _Have you_ , though?” Gabriel asked, shaking his head with a grimace. “Because I don’t think that’s true at all.”

“Excuse me?”

“Okay, yeah, maybe that wasn’t entirely fair to say,” Gabriel conceded. “But if I’m being honest, I’ve been concerned for a while now that you’re not looking at the bigger picture.”

Aziraphale scoffed.

“Right now, I don’t think you’re fine.”

“Oh, do enlighten me, please,” Aziraphale said with an exasperated sigh, leaning back in his chair dramatically. “What, pray tell, is this _bigger picture_ you speak of?”

“Well, to begin with, right now you’re being a bit of a bitch.”

“You make quite the compelling argument,” Aziraphale said flatly with an arch of his eyebrow.

“And that’s not convincing me I’m wrong, either,” Gabriel replied, pointing at Aziraphale’s face and circling his finger. “But—”

The door to the bookshop opened, sounding the chime.

“Speak of the Devil,” Gabriel said, turning to see Crowley walking in with a takeaway bag before turning back around to Aziraphale.

“We weren’t talking about Crowley,” Aziraphale hissed quietly.

“I was,” Gabriel grinned wickedly. “And we’re not done with this conversation.”

“Thought you might be a bit peckish,” Crowley said, placing the bag in front of Aziraphale. “I know sometimes you can’t quite get away from the shop when Newt is off work. Thought I’d bring you a little something to tide you over while I was in the area.”

“That was thoughtful of you, thank you,” Aziraphale said with a relieved smile. “Why are you in the area?”

Crowley’s phone rang before he could answer. “Oh, it’s a client,” he said, looking down at his phone. “Excuse me a moment, will you?” He stepped off to the side to take the call.

“Right, I’ll be back in an hour or so,” Gabriel said, standing up.

“Where are you going?”

Gabriel winked. “I’ve got lunch plans with your boy-toy.” He walked towards Crowley, nodding for the door. Crowley turned, still on the phone, and waved to Aziraphale before turning back around.

Wide-eyed, Aziraphale clutched his bagged lunch and helplessly watched them walk through the door.

Though generally they mostly spent time together as a group, Gabriel and Crowley had been having the occasional lunch or get-together when Bea and Aziraphale were busy with other things.

“We’re friends, right?” Gabriel asked as he and Crowley swapped their plates between one another, placing a cheeseburger and chips in front of Gabriel and marinated tofu in front of Crowley.

Crowley huffed out a laugh as he picked up a fork. “I’m touched. Here I thought I was merely the provider of a menu alibi on your lunch receipts.”

Gabriel shrugged. “It’s an added bonus. Anyway, I need your help with something.”

“What?” Crowley asked, taking a large bite.

“It’s about Aziraphale.”

Stymied by the food in his mouth, Crowley briefly considered spitting it into his hand before simply shaking his head no.

“But it is,” Gabriel snorted out in a laugh.

Crowley, furiously chewing, covered his mouth with his napkin. “That’s as may be,” he said, struggling to swallow, “But the point remains that we,” he pointed between them, “Aren’t talking about that.”

Gabriel sat back with a smirk. “Oh, that’s interesting. You see, all I wanted to ask you about was if you’d help me shop for a Christmas present for him.” Gabriel lazily dragged a chip through the ketchup on his plate. “So, it appears something _did_ happen,” he said, popping the chip into his mouth to chew with amusement.

“Wouldn’t know,” Crowley muttered, stabbing his fork back into his food. “Nobody’s talking about it.” He regarded Gabriel with a gaze that clearly announced the subject needed to be dropped.

“Anyway,” Gabriel said, receiving the message clearly, “I wouldn’t mind some help, and I really don’t like shopping with Bea.”

“Why don’t you like gift shopping with your wife?”

“Because she’s all business. She just wants to get in and get out, where I like to browse.”

“Well, that’s to be expected when you work in collectibles,” Crowley said with a nod. “You never know what you might miss by not looking.”

“I knew you’d get it.”

Crowley looked up at him. “But surely that’s not the only reason, is it? That can’t be all. If you don’t already know what you’re getting, you can’t just grab it and go.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes with a put-upon sigh. “When I set off all the actions on a shelf of electronic toys, she tends to get upset with me about it.”

Crowley nodded with a smirk. “Aziraphale fusses at me about that, sometimes, too.”

Gabriel shook his head, looking down at his plate. “She’s all, _can’t you just not do that_?”

“That’s not generally an option, no.” Crowley agreed. “The buttons are there to be pressed. Some of them even literally say _try me_ in bold letters. They’re asking to be pressed.”

“Well, that’s exactly my point,” Gabriel said, waving his hands in the air. “Bea is my favorite person in all the world. She’s brilliant, funny, capable, and she loves me. I _adore_ her. The only other person in existence that comes remotely _close_ to that is Aziraphale, no offense—“

“None taken,” Crowley laughed.

“But I’ve only known you for a couple of years in comparison. That being said,” Gabriel leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “I know that when the time comes and I’m on one end of the shelf pushing buttons, you’re going to be on the opposite side doing the same thing.”

Crowley laughed with a grin. “Yeah, all right.”

“I have to visit my tailor next week,” Gabriel continued, leaning back in his chair comfortably. “I was thinking we could make a day of it.”

“You have a tailor?”

“I like clothes,” Gabriel said with a shrug. “Most of my jackets and suits are tailored.”

“So that,” Crowley gestured vaguely upward, “That velvet monstrosity you wore recently, that was _made_ for you?”

“Oh, that’s rich. You’ve worn plenty of velvet.”

“Yes, I have,” Crowley agreed, “And it looks _incredible_ on me. You, however, looked like a flocked action figure.”

Gabriel pouted. “You looked like the velvet bag a tennis bracelet box comes in.”

“If you mean a lovely wrap for something exquisite and precious, you’d be correct.”

Gabriel snorted a laugh into his water. “Yeah, okay.”

After a few minutes of comfortable silence while they ate, Gabriel spoke once more.

“Now that we’ve established my initial purpose,” Gabriel said, lacing his fingers together underneath his chin and leaning forward on his elbows, “I’d like to revisit this Aziraphale _thing_.”

Crowley put his fork down and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “We were having a perfectly nice lunch. You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Not one of my strengths, no,” Gabriel said. “Seriously, though, something’s up with Aziraphale, and he won’t talk to me about it. I think you know what it is.”

Crowley looked down at the table, his hands raised up as they clenched and unclenched, before looking back at Gabriel. “I can honestly tell you that I don’t actually _know_ what’s wrong.”

“But you’re admitting something is wrong?”

Crowley shrugged, hands open wide. “Evidently.”

“What happened?” Gabriel asked gently.

Crowley shook his head, pressing his lips together tightly while looking down once again. “I… I don’t know,” he said in a low, quiet voice. “But I do know he’s been lying to me about something.” Crowley looked up suddenly, panic evident in his eyes. “But you can’t tell him I said that, please. I know that between the two of us, your loyalty lies with A—”

“Hey, calm down,” Gabriel said, reaching across to put his hand over the top of Crowley’s. “I’m not going to tell him anything you don’t want me to. That’s not my right or my place. It’s not about loyalty, it’s about respect. I’m not going to run off and tell him anything you said any more than I would him about you.”

“I thought the two of you didn’t keep secrets,” Crowley said, regarding Gabriel with a hint of what was left of his initial fear.

“It’s not a secret. It’s a story that isn’t mine to tell.”

Crowley took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. “I really want to not like you right now,” he said. “But you’re making it quite difficult.”

“I get that a lot,” Gabriel grinned, patting Crowley’s hand twice before leaning back in his chair again. “So, what’s been going on?”

Crowley explained about the morning after his dental work, how he found things versus how Aziraphale explained them, though he didn’t quite tell Gabriel everything. He made no mention about _how_ he knew the receipt couldn’t have fallen out of his wallet accidentally, only that he knew it wasn’t contained where Aziraphale said it had been.

“But something else happened more recently, didn’t it?” Gabriel asked. “Aziraphale wasn’t himself at all today.”

Crowley groaned, rubbing a hand across his face. “Y-yeah. Uh, some arsehole was hitting on him at the theater last night.”

Gabriel arched an eyebrow. “How was he an asshole?”

“He…Wh…” Crowley flustered before glaring and pointing to himself. “I get to have an opinion on this, all right? He’s an arsehole because he didn’t _know_ Aziraphale and I weren’t together, now, did he?”

“I wasn’t there. I wouldn’t know,” Gabriel said, raising his hands defensively.

“Well, then, allow me to inform you thusly. I sat through the _entire_ first act just _watching_ that fucking arsehole making eyes at Aziraphale, and the minute my back was turned during intermission to get us something to drink, _boom_!” Crowley clapped his hands together loudly. “He went in to steal my angel.”

“ _Your_ angel?” Gabriel said, batting his eyes with a grin.

“Oh, shut up,” Crowley scoffed. “Surely we’re past that by now.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Right… What was my point?”

“Um… An asshole was flirting with Aziraphale right in front of you.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. And then, okay, I know that I don’t really have any claim on Aziraphale.”

Gabriel tilted his head to the side, pursing his lips and furrowing his brow.

“No, I _know_ that, all right?” Crowley repeated.

Gabriel sighed. “If you say so.”

“I _do_. Anyway, I figured, what kind of friend would I be to stand in the way if he wanted to, you know, to _do something_?” Crowley looked pained as he exhaled loudly, covering his eyes as he leaned his face on his hand. “I just want him to be happy.”

“Crowley, look,” Gabriel began. “I think there’s a lot here you aren’t seeing. I know you’ve only known him a couple of years now, but you only know how he acts around you. You’ve never really seen from the outside how he acts when he’s interested in someone—”

“He told me about the two of you.”

Gabriel blinked, unable to finish his sentence. “What?”

“I know about the two of you,” Crowley repeated.

“Okay,” Gabriel said, looking cautiously at Crowley. “Is that a problem?”

“Oh, no, no, I’m… I’m sorry.” Crowley shook his head, tracing his finger along the condensation on his water glass. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know that was decades ago. I meant I know he…” Crowley pulled his hands back into his lap to look across at Gabriel once again. “It wasn’t about whether or not he was interested in that person. The _point_ is that he could _potentially_ be, and I… Don’t get me wrong. I love being his friend. I do, but at the end of the day, I’m _just_ his friend.”

“Crowley,” Gabriel argued. “You _know_ you’re more than just a friend to him.”

“Yeah, no, I know,” Crowley said, looking down as he nodded rapidly. “I do. I know that. But so were you.”

“That wasn’t at all the same thing, though,” Gabriel said. “Aziraphale and I were practically kids at the time, and never in a romantic relationship.”

Crowley stared at him, raising his eyebrows. “Other than how old he was then versus now, how is that different from the non-romantic relationship he and I are currently in?”

“It…” Gabriel looked upwards briefly before looking back to Crowley with a sigh. “I don’t know how much he told you to really explain that,” Gabriel said carefully.

“Ah,” Crowley replied. “Well, he told me that the two of you used to mess around together a bit early on at Uni, but decided ultimately that you were better off as friends.”

Gabriel relaxed a bit. “Yeah, good. That’s what happened. It was just really weird. The attraction was there, but the idea of being romantically involved with each other didn’t feel right.”

Crowley looked around, nodding slowly as Gabriel spoke. “Weird, right. Okay.”

“And I think we made the right decision. We stayed friends, and yeah, it was a little awkward at first, but then I met Bea, and the rest is history.”

After a moment of semi-uncomfortable silence, Gabriel spoke. “Do you mind if I ask how that came up? You don’t have to tell me. I’m just curious.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, trying to remember back to that conversation. “Uh, I think it was probably when he was showing me some old photos from Uni. It was mostly just you and Aziraphale. I didn’t see Bea in any of them. I guess she was the one taking the photos.”

Gabriel smiled gently. “Something like that. She wasn’t terribly fond of having her picture taken back then like she is now.” He looked at what was left on his plate and pushed it away, politely waiting for Crowley to finish eating before signaling for the bill.

“Look, I get that things don’t make a lot of sense sometimes,” Gabriel said, as they each retrieved their cards from the folio on the table. “I do. But I think you need to start really trying to pay attention to the clues around you. There’s a lot happening… Things that you don’t know, or won’t allow yourself to see, for whatever reason.”

 _Oh, I think I understand_ , Crowley thought with a sad smile. _I understand far too well._

A few days later, while browsing at Sotheby’s, Crowley was startled to the point of dread at the sound of an uncomfortably familiar voice. It was a bit lower than he remembered, and rougher than it had been in his early twenties, but still one Crowley never would forget.

“Crawley? Izzat you?”

Crowley’s eyes darted around wildly from behind his dark glasses looking for a clear path to an exit. Finding none, he plastered as convincing a smile as he could across his face and turned around.

“It _is_ you, you goddamned _snake_ ,” the voice growled.

“John, _Gideon_ ,” Crowley drawled in a saccharine tone, his smile struggling not to shift into a sneer. “How _wonderful_ to see you both again. It’s been _far_ too long.”

“Indeed, it has,” a second, slightly taller man said. “Is this where you’ve been hiding for the last twenty-something years, Anton?”

“Hiding?” Crowley said, blinking in feigned confusion. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb with us, Crawley,” the first man said, stepping forward.

“Now, now, Gideon,” John said, putting his hand on the shorter man’s shoulder. “That’s no way to speak to an old friend, is it?” He looked to Crowley again. “Perhaps we could take a moment to…” He paused, looking Crowley up and down. “Catch up, as it were.”

Crowley’s eyes flicked from Gideon to John, his body tensed and alert in spite of an outwardly casual appearance. “Right.”

“We should go somewhere a bit more private,” John suggested.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Crowley replied, still smiling.

“Aww,” John pouted. “I think our dear Anton doesn’t trust us, Gid.”

“ _Good_ ,” Gideon laughed.

“Now, now,” John chastised. “That’s no way to—”

“No way to speak about old friends, right,” Crowley quickly interrupted, growing restless and tired of the game. “We all know there’s no love lost between us. It isn’t that I don’t trust you. It’s that I _know_ that the minute you get me alone, Gideon is going to find one or more parts of me to break, and you’re going to conveniently look the other way until it’s done.”

Gideon smiled gleefully and nodded.

John sighed, rolling his eyes. “I do so _detest_ violence, Anton.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want to see how many of your bones I can break,” Gideon replied.

“Gideon, _stop_ ,” John said, looking pale as he turned away. “I haven’t the stomach for that.” He looked back to Crowley. “But, rumor has it, Nickie Ben is still looking for you, Anton.”

Crowley was afraid of that. “What is it going to take to get you to walk away and forget you ever knew me?” He sighed heavily.

“A million pounds,” Gideon barked.

“Oh, _fuck off_ ,” Crowley said. “I don’t have a million pounds to give you, even if I _wanted_ to, which I don’t.”

“Hush, Gideon,” John said quietly. “Let the grown-ups talk now.” John flashed a mirthless smile towards Crowley. “Rumor has it that Nickie Ben is offering a hundred thousand pounds to anyone who brings you to him. Can you beat that?”

Crowley considered. He had absolutely no interest in giving these two _any_ of his money, let alone a large chunk of it. But he also had no interest in being found by Nickie Ben again, either. Especially considering he knew there wouldn’t be a second opportunity to run.

Nickie didn’t give second chances.

“I think we can work something out,” Crowley said, wheels turning in his mind. “I don’t have that kind of money, either, but I can get it through my employer,” he lied. “I just have to figure out the best way to not get caught doing it.”

“You don’t really expect us to believe you’re going to get that from your employer, do you?”

“You’ll have to forgive Gideon, Anton. He means well.”

“No, I don’t.”

“What is it that you do, now, Anton?”

“Same as before, really,” Crowley explained, “Except that I’ve gone legit. I _purchase_ the items I sell to clients. But I can’t have more cash going out than I have coming in. That’s the tricky part.”

“Tricky? That’s not what I want to hear,” Gideon said. “I want to hear you beg for mercy when I bust you up.”

John glared at Gideon. “What my brother is trying to ask is if you can offer us any sort of assurance that you would be capable of doing this.”

“I’ve done it before,” Crowley grinned. “I do believe that’s why there’s a price on my head to begin with.”

“He has a point, Gideon,” John said.

“And when he gets caught with his hand in the cookie jar, what then?” Gideon asked.

“You wound me,” Crowley said, almost sincerely affected. “I _obviously_ know how to cover my tracks. You _know_ that. I’ve been doing it for decades now.”

Gideon looked at John, pursing his lips and nodding his head reluctantly. “As slippery as you always were, I suppose you do.”

Crowley did, in fact, know what to look out for. He _also_ knew that his own financial records had been audited twice in the past two years by the Financial Crimes unit. He knew that even though he had been found to be one of the many victims of Bychance, and later Cranby, his transactions, along with those he transacted with, were still being monitored _just in case_.

“I’ll need to liquidate a few assets first,” Crowley continued. “To ensure things look on the up-and-up. It might take some time before—”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Gideon said crossly, cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders. “I know you. You’re planning to run again, but you’ve met your match. You’re not going to fool us like you did Nickie. I’ll clip your wings if I have to.”

“Now, now,” John tutted, stepping between Gideon and Crowley. “Let’s be gentlemen about this. We’ll give you a little time to gather the money,” John said as Gideon scoffed.

“Honestly, it’s going to be easier to pay you as I gather it rather than a lump sum,” Crowley said.

“Admittedly, I think we’d rather not wait until you collect it all, either,” John agreed. “But we’re going to at _least_ need _something_ today _._ Think of it as a deposit of good faith.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Ten thousand pounds,” John said.

“For each of us,” Gideon said, popping his head out from behind John.

Crowley knew he’d need to at least _act_ put out to convince them he was sincere. “Oh, I don’t, I’m afraid I don’t have that much available today. Could you go down at all?”

“Ten thousand to split,” John replied.

“Well,” Crowley drawled with a pout, “I _could_ , but I don’t carry that sort of cash on me. I tend to conduct my business via card or cheque.” Crowley looked at his watch. “The banks are closed.” Crowley’s face brightened before shifting back into a frown. “Oh, I could go to an ATM, but unfortunately, the ATM won’t give that much at once, either.” He paused, tapping his chin with his finger. “I’d need to—”

“Just write us a cheque, then,” Gideon barked with exasperation.

Crowley grinned with demonic delight as he pulled out his chequebook. “Oh, of course. Happy to.” He clicked his pen. “Do you spell Worthington with a W? I want to make _certain_ I get this right.”

Gideon snatched the check from Crowley’s fingers as he handed it over. “What the hell is Ophidian Orchards?”

“My employer,” Crowley said with a smirk.

“Maybe we should give them a call,” Gideon said as John rolled his eyes.

“You do realize that the condition to your payment is that you _don’t_ speak to anyone about me, don’t you?” Crowley asked, confused.

“It’s not a problem,” John said, shaking his head. “As long as the money keeps coming, you’ll have your privacy.”

“But the minute I think you’re crossing us,” Gideon added, “I’ll come and find you, bust you up just enough that you don’t die, and let Nickie Ben send someone else out to finish the job.”

Crowley smiled, scrunching up his nose. “Right.”

While Crowley had initially planned to make dinner for Aziraphale that night, he found the idea of being around Aziraphale without telling him what happened too difficult to do. Even more difficult would have been telling him and seeing the worry and concern in his eyes.

For now.

Crowley didn’t intend to hide this from Aziraphale, but he wasn’t ready to have this conversation, not yet. Not until he had a better handle on what was happening, if for no other reason than to be able to explain to Aziraphale that there was nothing to worry over.

Crowley just had to ensure that was true first.

> **Hey**
> 
> **Hello.** **😊**
> 
> **Wud u b upset  
>  if we did dinner  
>  another nite?**
> 
> **Is everything okay?**
> 
> **Everything’s fine  
>  Got a work project  
>  I need to get a  
>  better handle on**
> 
> **Ah. Nose to the  
>  grindstone, I see.**
> 
> **U no me so well**
> 
> **No worries.**
> 
> **Lunch Friday?**
> 
> **Of course.**

Crowley, in spite of the fact that he fully intended to be honest with Aziraphale about this eventually, still felt incredibly guilty. It wasn’t a lie, not technically, but it was close enough to bother him. It wasn’t the same as keeping his feelings to himself. That was different. That was as much to protect Aziraphale as it was for himself.

Crowley tossed and turned in his bed for some time before finally falling asleep.

“Would you mind filing this expense voucher?” Crowley asked as he sauntered into the office the next morning, handing a form to Didi.

“If I can manage to read your chicken scratch,” she said, placing it on the desk to wait while she continued working on her current task.

“Chickens don’t have thumbs,” Crowley said as he picked up her empty cup, carrying it over to the side to prepare another cup of coffee for her while making one for himself. “ _Oh_ ,” he said, suddenly understanding. “I suppose that might make it harder to read what they wrote.”

Didi shot a glance at Crowley with a snort before looking back at her screen. After depositing a freshly made cup of coffee on Didi’s desk, Crowley sat back down at his own.

A few minutes later, Didi sat back in her chair, taking a sip of coffee while picking up the expense voucher. “Grk,” she sputtered around her coffee as she read the memo. “Are you some kind of an idiot, Crowley?”

Crowley tilted his head towards her with a fond expression. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You spent _ten thousand pounds_ on _one big avocado_?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Crowley asked innocently.

“Don’t be daft,” Didi said. “You know as well as I do that you’re being watched. Have you any idea how many flags this is going to send up?”

Crowley took a long, deep drink from his coffee, smacking his lips with a sound of satisfaction. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Didi’s eyebrows raised. “You did this on purpose.”

Crowley nodded. “I’m being extorted. Or blackmailed. Well, it’s both, really,” he said, rolling his eyes and flourishing a hand in the air dismissively. “They said if I didn’t pay them, they’d _bust me up_ , and then they’d let someone else know where I am so he could send someone after me as well.”

Didi let out a sigh, grabbing her bag out of her desk drawer. She stepped over to Crowley’s desk and motioned for him to scoot over. Crowley’s eyes widened in shock as she pulled out a small mother-of-pearl inlay pistol and slipped it into the top drawer of Crowley’s desk.

“What the actual fuck are you doing with that?” Crowley asked, scooting even further back in his chair.

“I assume you know how to use that,” Didi said calmly.

“That’s not the point,” Crowley yelped. “How long have you been bringing a _gun_ into the office?”

“I told you on my first day that we’ve both been burned,” she said casually as she sat back down. “That’s not going to happen again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honest John (Worthington) and Gideon  
> 
> 
> Title source:  
> 


	16. Well, Well, Well, If It Isn't The Consequences Of My Own Actions...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley, here you are, once again, the victim of your own thoughts.  
> (or: Crowley does a poor job of interpreting things.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In changing up the chapter lengths and counts, I decided not to end this one on a cliffhanger after all and pushed that part back, so if you’re waiting to read until there is resolution for the hard part that’s coming, you can go ahead and read this chapter because we’re not there yet.

Crowley couldn’t pinpoint when it happened, but he had begun to grow accustomed to all of the little things that added up into something special about his assistant, his _friend_. Didi took excellent care of Crowley, and it felt _good_. Crowley _trusted_ Didi. Not the way he had trusted his assistants before her. No, Didi had proven herself time and again. She had gone above and beyond just someone who ran the office.

Even though they were nearly the same age, and he had no real frame of reference to compare to otherwise, Didi was practically like a parental figure to him. If asked, he wouldn’t ever admit that to her, nor say it where anyone else could hear, but that wasn’t the point. Didi not only handled his accounting, but she also took care of Figgs when Crowley was away, brought him breakfast on her way in to work, checked in on him when he wasn’t feeling well, and now here she was, trying to protect him from his past, in her own unorthodox way.

Didi did all of these things quietly in the background without much fanfare. She did them because they were things that needed to be done, whether or not she needed to be recognized for them. Crowley sometimes wondered if she were trying to redeem herself for her own past similar to the way Crowley had been. It made him feel a little closer to her at times, the thought helping him feel a little less alone as a sinner trying to redeem himself in the eyes of whoever might have been out there looking down on him.

Didi never looked down on him. She was ruthless in her ribbing, but it was clear that she had Crowley’s best interests at heart.

Aziraphale had been right about that early on in their relationship.

Relationship.

“That’s what it is, to me, at least,” Crowley muttered. _When did I start getting close to people? Oh, right,_ he thought, shaking his head _. The first time I saw him in the Garden._

_Did I love him then? Must have. Not that it matters. I’m just a collection of past, present, and future problems tied together with string._

Crowley rubbed his hands across his face. He needed a distraction to get out of his own head. “Give me something to do,” Crowley said, standing up. “I need to get out for a bit and _do_ something.”

Didi thought for a moment, looking around. “Right,” she said, opening a desk drawer to retrieve a zippered pouch. “Go take these mail-in payments and deposit them.”

“I thought you usually scanned those in?”

Didi’s eyebrows raised. “I do for smaller payments, but not for amounts this high. Do you want something to do or not?”

“Right, right,” Crowley said. “Sorry.”

“There’s a deposit ticket inside. Just fill it out and—”

Crowley’s head pulled back as his eyebrows furrowed. “I know how to deposit a cheque, Didi.”

“Then why are you still standing here staring at me? Go on, then,” she said, looking back at her computer while shooing him off with a lazy wave of her hand.

“Some people pay lots of money for this level of abuse,” Crowley laughed quietly as he turned to leave.

“But nowhere near as much as I’m worth,” Didi replied. “And that’s why you pay me as much as you do.”

Crowley smiled as he walked through the door.

Crowley took the scenic route to the bank in a futile attempt to clear his head. He drove around London for the better part of an hour, music blaring loudly as he sang along at the top of his lungs in an attempt to collect his thoughts before finally arriving at the bank. As he stood queued for the teller, he thought about what to say to Aziraphale. How was he going to explain all of this? He couldn’t put it off forever. Crowley already felt guilty for having cancelled plans on Aziraphale without fully telling him the truth just the night before.

Crowley was so tired of keeping things from Aziraphale. Maybe Aziraphale _knew_ and that’s why _he_ was keeping things from Crowley. Not about John and Gideon, of course, but about how Crowley felt towards Aziraphale. Maybe if they could actually _talk_ about things—

“I need to tell him,” Crowley said aloud. “That’s what I need.”

“Beg pardon?” The teller asked.

“What?” Crowley said, confused.

“I asked if there was anything else you needed.”

“Right, uh, no, sorry. Thank you. I’ll be popping along, then. Have a day,” Crowley said, appearing to be as equally flustered at the interaction as the teller.

_Have a day? What the fuck is wrong with me?_

Crowley saw he had missed a text from Didi a half hour past as he got back into the Bentley.

> **Take the rest  
>  of the day off.**
> 
> **Excuse me?**
> 
> **You had a pair  
>  of visitors. **
> 
> **What? Who?**
> 
> **I think you know  
>  who.**
> 
> **R U OK**
> 
> **I’m fine, don’t  
>  fret. But thank   
> you for asking.**
> 
> **What happened?**
> 
> **I handled it.**
> 
> **Fuck, Didi, what  
>  did u do? **
> 
> **Calm down. I  
>  told them you  
> were out for  
> the day. Gave   
> them a fake email  
> for your “boss”  
> that routes back   
> to me.**
> 
> **JFC, u scared the  
>  fuck out of me.**
> 
> **Just stay gone.**
> 
> **Right.**
> 
> **See you in the  
>  morning.**

As if on autopilot, Crowley found himself stepping out of the Bentley and onto the pavement across from the bookshop, takeaway bag in hand. He hadn’t necessarily intended to be here, as he still hadn’t figured out how to have this talk with Aziraphale, but the precious little wave from the shop window told him it was too late to turn back now.

“Excellent timing,” Aziraphale greeted as he walked towards the back with a stack of books in his hand. “I was just tidying up before I closed up shop for the afternoon. After you,” Aziraphale said, nodding his head towards the door to the back room before following Crowley through it.

Crowley placed the bag off to the side, stepping over to say hello to Cleo while Aziraphale continued to put things away.

“D’you have any appointments this afternoon?” Crowley asked after a few minutes, knowing that Aziraphale closed early on Tuesdays.

“As a matter of fact, other than a bit of reshelving, I’m perfectly free until tomorrow morning,” Aziraphale said as he peeked into the bag on the worktop. “This smells heavenly,” Aziraphale remarked.

“Why don’t you go ahead and tuck in while I go lock the door, yeah?” Crowley offered, standing up and brushing his knees off where he had been crouched in front of the aquarium. “And after you eat, I’ll help you with the rest of it.”

“Oh, thank you, that would be lovely,” Aziraphale said, already having pulled a container out.

Crowley smiled as he sauntered lazily through the shop towards the door. Locking it securely, he looked through the glass before pulling down the shades, humming to himself.

“This is really quite excellent,” Aziraphale remarked as Crowley walked back into the back of the shop. “Have you already eaten?”

“Not really all that hungry,” Crowley said, sitting down next to Aziraphale. “Thought I might have a bit of yours,” he said, grinning as he took a bite off of Aziraphale’s fork.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asked brightly, offering him another bite.

Crowley nodded, chewing with a grin.

_I want it to be like this always,_ both Aziraphale and Crowley thought.

Once the takeaway container was emptied, they went back into the bookshop proper so that Aziraphale could continue to work.

“Angel,” Crowley began, stepping in behind Aziraphale, sliding his hands along Aziraphale’s hips as he put books upon a shelf, “There’s something I wanted to discuss with you.”

Aziraphale leaned back against Crowley. “Yes? What would you like to talk about?”

“Ngk,” Crowley said, resting his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder, his bravery wavering. “N-not here. Not right now. You’re working. But later, I have something I need to say.”

“If it’s important, we can discuss it now,” Aziraphale said, turning around to face Crowley.

Crowley shook his head. “Nah, it, It’s not… Well, it _is_ important, but it can wait. I don’t want to distract you.”

“If you didn’t want to distract me, you shouldn’t have put on those trousers.”

“I’m relatively certain it would be more of a distraction without them,” Crowley grinned. “But to be fair, I didn’t realize I was coming over here when I got dressed this morning.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrow arched. “But you _are_ coming over here, yes?”

“Angel, I’m _already_ he—” Crowley rolled his eyes as he barked out a laugh at the dual entendre. “You _tart_.”

“I know what I’m about,” Aziraphale replied, pulling Crowley’s face towards his own to press their lips together.

Crowley pulled back slightly to grin against Aziraphale’s lips. “But you’re working.”

“Such a _foul fiend_ ,” Aziraphale chided playfully, “Tempting me from work with takeaway and the threat of a good time.”

“S’not a threat,” Crowley replied. “It’s a promise.”

“Only if you act on it,” Aziraphale replied, running his hands through Crowley’s hair.

“Hang on a moment,” Crowley said, as amused as he was confused. “How did you manage to turn that around on me?”

“I told you,” Aziraphale said, pulling him close. “I know what I’m about.”

_And I’m about to take you right here, right now, against this very shelf_ , Aziraphale thought, sliding his knee up between Crowley’s legs.

Crowley moaned softly, the sound muffled only briefly by Aziraphale’s lips before the hand in his hair pulled his head back. Aziraphale trailed a path of kisses along Crowley’s throat, nipping at the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“Angel,” Crowley said, tilting his head towards Aziraphale’s face to kiss him again. “I meant what I said about wanting to talk to you about something.”

“I’m listening,” Aziraphale breathed into his ear.

“Not here,” Crowley said, closing his eyes to let the warmth of the body pressed against him sink in. “Not yet.”

“If it’s work you’re worried about, I’m done for the day,” Aziraphale said, running a hand beneath Crowley’s shirt to caress his stomach.

“I…” Crowley faltered, unsure how to continue.

“The bookshop will still be here tomorrow, and I can finish anything else then,” Aziraphale continued. “You needn’t worry your pretty head over that.”

Lips met again and again as they stood there together. Crowley’s thoughts ran wild, so wild he couldn’t make sense of them. There was no way he could have this conversation like this, not with an angel between his legs. Crowley needed time to think. All he wanted was to take Aziraphale and run off to the stars, away from all of their problems. It didn’t matter where or how, not as long as he had Aziraphale with him.

“We could go off together,” Crowley said, brushing his lips from Aziraphale’s ear down along his jaw.

_Please, Angel._

“Go off together?” Aziraphale’s brow furrowed in confusion. “How do you mean? When?”

“Tonight,” Crowley said, nipping at Aziraphale’s chin before pulling back to look pleadingly into Aziraphale’s eyes. “Let’s _go_.”

_I have so much to tell you, to show you, if you’ll give me the chance._

“Crowley, listen to yourself,” Aziraphale said cautiously.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go,” Crowley whispered with quiet desperation.

“It isn’t a matter of _where_ I want to go, Crowley, it’s that I—”

Crowley lunged forward, cutting Aziraphale’s sentence off with another kiss. He pressed closer, pushing Aziraphale up against the shelf with gentle urgency as he clutched at the lapels of Aziraphale’s coat tightly in his fists, as if his angel might float away through the simple act of letting go.

Aziraphale relaxed in Crowley’s grasp, lifting his arms to wrap around him as he returned the kiss, all but forgetting why he was arguing to begin with.

“Well, what do we have here?”

Quickly breaking the kiss, both Crowley and Aziraphale’s heads whipped around towards the sound of the intruding voice in surprise. Upon seeing the two men standing before him, Crowley took a step from where he had previously had an angel pinned, placing himself in front of Aziraphale.

“ _You_ ,” Crowley growled.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” Aziraphale said, quickly adjusting his coat lapel and straightening his bowtie. “I thought you locked the door,” he whispered to Crowley.

“I _did_.”

“I’m afraid we really are quite _definitely_ closed. I would have mentioned this when you entered, but I didn’t hear the bell when you came in.”

_That’s because it didn’t ring_ , Crowley thought, remembering one of the earliest lessons he had been given in sneaking into an establishment unnoticed.

“Oh, that’s quite all right, my good fellow. We’re not customers. We’ve come to say hello to an old _friend_.”

“John,” Crowley said with an irritated grimace. “Gideon. What a _lovely_ surprise.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Gideon snarled.

“Pleasure to meet you, erm… Forgive me, but I don’t believe I quite caught your name,” John said politely, extending his hand towards Aziraphale. “Unless your given name really _is_ Angel.”

“Fell,” Aziraphale replied, eying John up and down before accepting the handshake.

“As in _A. Z. Fell?_ Am I to assume you’re the owner of this establishment?”

“I am, yes,” Aziraphale said cautiously. “And _you_ are?”

“Oh, these are some of my old business associates,” Crowley quickly interjected.

“We’ve recently opened up some new negotiations,” John smiled sweetly.

“ _Lucrative_ negotiations,” Gideon remarked.

“Give us a moment, would you, Angel?” Crowley said, turning to herd Aziraphale towards the back.

“Oh, y-yes, of course,” Aziraphale said, his eyebrows furrowing and arm muscles tensing just enough for Crowley to notice. “If you’re _certain_.” There was a lingering, unspoken question to his tone.

Crowley nodded vigorously, placing a hand on the small of Aziraphale’s back to guide him back towards the register. “I am. You just wait over here. We won’t be long, I promise you,” Crowley said with a reassuring tilt of his head and lift of his eyebrows. “Everything is fine.”

“Very well,” Aziraphale conceded, “But I won’t be far.”

Crowley plastered on his best reassuring smile before turning to walk back over towards John and Gideon.

“What the _actual fuck_ do you think you’re doing here?” Crowley whispered threateningly. “How long have you been in here?”

“Relax, Anton,” John began before being interrupted.

“Or should we call you _Foul Fiend_ now?” Gideon grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“You shouldn’t be calling me _at all_ this soon,” Crowley said flatly.

“We just wanted to know how to find you in the event that you might have stopped payment on the cheque,” John said.

“Or tried to run,” Gideon added.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Crowley smirked. “Not _again_ , anyway.”

“You were! I heard you,” Gideon accused. ‘You literally just asked him to go off with you tonight.”

Crowley flinched. He felt extremely vulnerable and violated upon realizing that such a private moment, one where he was trying to lay his heart bare and open before the love of his life, had been witnessed like this. He swallowed, his face darkening and twisting into something anguished and horrified before shifting back to neutral. “That’s not at all the same thing, though, is it? Going on holiday isn’t unusual, especially a week from Christmas. Besides, you wouldn’t expect someone to run off and leave a business behind just like that, would you?”

_It really **had** been a ridiculous notion_, Crowley realized with growing discomfort.

“No, I suppose not, Anton,” John said, seemingly placated as he looked around the shop. He turned back to Crowley with a pleasant, almost sincere smile. “Or would you prefer I call you Anthony?”

“As I said, I’d prefer you not call at all.”

“So that’s the name you’re going by now, is it?” Gideon asked.

Crowley blinked a few times trying to process what he just heard. “The name written on the cheque? Do you mean the name I signed that _same_ cheque with? The same name on the plaque on my desk at my office, where you were earlier today? Y-yeah, that’s me.”

John gave a half-smile with a shrug as he glanced from Gideon to Crowley.

“In the future, if you’re looking for me, you already know to come by my office. If I’m not there, my assistant will take a message. Don’t come here again.”

“Your assistant said you left for the day, so we decided to do a little asking around.”

“Who told you to come here?” Crowley hissed, stalking forward. He hated himself for even considering that Didi might have said something, but intrusive thoughts being what they were, and his past standing in front of him now, it was what it was.

“Relax, Crawley. We only popped in because we saw your car.”

“How do _you_ know what I drive?”

“When you weren’t at your office, the next logical place for us to find people who might know you was your bank,” John explained. “When we got there, we saw you getting into your car. It’s not often one sees a classic Bentley nowadays. For someone in hiding, that’s a bit of an odd choice.”

“You always were a bit of a flash bastard,” Gideon sneered.

Crowley groaned internally. They had a point, but at least it hadn’t been Didi selling him out. “You followed me?”

“Obviously.” It was John’s turn to look confused. “We were _trying_ to find you.”

“And here we are,” Gideon grinned as he ran his hand along the intricate pattern of metalwork decorating a sword on the wall. “Is this thing real?”

“Don’t come here _again_ ,” Crowley growled threateningly, ignoring the question.

Gideon tried to pull the sword down, grunting with the strain of lifting it from the brackets before dropping it unceremoniously to the ground with a loud, clattering thud. “How could anyone use that?” He asked, rubbing his arm while staring down at it.

“E- _excuse_ me,” Aziraphale said as he rushed over, picking the sword up off of the floor one-handed. “You may be business associates of Crowley, but this is _my_ business establishment, and while you are _in_ my establishment, I expect you to behave respectfully.” He twirled the sword around, glaring as John and Gideon watched in awe. “Crowley may have patience for your nonsense, but I can assure you that I do not share it. You’ve been asked to leave,” he said, pointing the sword towards the door.

Gideon and John both looked from the point of the sword up to find angry, irritated eyes boring down into them, then back to the sword as Aziraphale’s wrist flicked twice, using the sword to motion for the door once more. They looked between one another with a single nod and headed towards the exit. As Gideon opened the door, John turned around, tipping his hat with a quick bow. “Pleasure, gents. We’ll be seeing you.”

Crowley rushed over to lock the door behind them, leaning against it as he let out a harsh breath. He slid down the door to the floor, covering his face with his hands.

“So those two, they’re not actually friends, are they?” Aziraphale asked as he stepped over to Crowley, reaching a hand out to help him stand back up.

“Nnnngh…” Crowley groaned out in a half-whine as he got to his feet. “No. They… They want me to pay them not to hurt me,” Crowley replied, pausing only when Aziraphale gasped. “You remember me telling you about Nickie Ben?”

Aziraphale let out a harsh breath. “Yes, I remember. That’s the fellow that you used to work for, the one who wouldn’t let you leave.”

Crowley nodded, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “He’s got a price on me, and they want more than he’s offering to _not_ tell him where I am.”

“That’s what you wanted to talk to me about,” Aziraphale said with a kindness that burned a hole through Crowley’s heart.

Crowley’s breath hitched as his eyes darted up to Aziraphale, then back to the ground _. Every time I try to tell him, something happens_ , Crowley thought sadly, looking anywhere _but_ at Aziraphale _. Is this a sign?_ Pensive eyes lifted to gaze up through the oculus looking for answers. _Are you trying to tell me something? Is it going to keep getting worse each time? Is he going to get hurt?_

“It is, isn’t it,” Aziraphale soothed as he brushed the hair back from Crowley’s forehead, startling him out of his thoughts as wide and frightened amber eyes snapped forward to lock with soft hazel. “Is that why you wanted to go off? To avoid them?”

In spite of the tender concern in Aziraphale’s gaze, Crowley felt scrutinized and found wanting. _It couldn’t possibly be anything else, could it,_ he thought. _Why **wouldn’t** you think that’s all I wanted to say to you? _Crowley’s thoughts took a turn for the worse _. A demon. That’s what I am. I’m a dark serpent with an even darker past, one which I led **here** , essentially into your home, to threaten your peace and safety._

_I brought this threat to your doorstep and into your sanctuary._

Crowley nodded. “Angel, I’m so sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know they would come here.”

Aziraphale pulled his head down to rest upon his shoulder, stroking Crowley’s hair reassuringly. “Don’t worry over that right now,” Aziraphale said. “Is there something that can be done about it?”

“I… Maybe? I hope so. I’ve got, well, I don’t want to say it out loud right now just in case, but things are happening.”

“All right,” Aziraphale said, carding his fingers through Crowley’s hair to scratch along his scalp. “What would you say to us going upstairs so that I could help you feel better? Perhaps to continue where we were before being so rudely interrupted?”

_I can’t even give myself to you. I’m not my own to give_ , Crowley thought with a sigh of resignation. _But we’re here now, and for **now** , I can at least give you this._ He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, burying his face in Aziraphale’s neck with a nod.

_It’s a ridiculous notion for me to love anyone, isn’t it? How could a broken effigy possibly be capable of anything more?_

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re in on this, too. I already told Gabriel, I can’t just pick up and leave for a few days.”

“I don’t see why not,” Newt said.

“ _Because_ ,” Aziraphale argued, “I need to be _here_.”

“Aziraphale. You’ve already set the holiday hours,” Newt explained with exasperation. “The shop closes early on the 24th, and is closed the 25th and 26th for the holiday. We’re _always_ closed on Sundays, anyway. Between the 23rd and the 28th, I’d only be working a day and a half, which I do anyway. You’ve already given me a few days off during Hanukkah. It’s the _least_ I could do in return. I think you should go, and I definitely think you should ask Crowley to go with you.”

“I don’t know why I keep you on the payroll,” Aziraphale muttered with a glare.

“Because if you hired someone else, they might have tried to put correct UPC numbers on your old books.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “You know about that? You haven’t told Gabriel, have you?”

“Who do you think told _me_?” Newt grinned.

Aziraphale pulled out his mobile.

> **You could have told me  
>  that everyone knew.**
> 
> **Gonna have to b  
>  more specific,   
> there, buddy.**
> 
> **R U talking about  
>  ur boyfriend?**
> 
> **About the UPC codes.**
> 
> **HA! Newt told  
>  u?**
> 
> **Yes.**
> 
> **Speaking of ur  
>  boyfriend…**
> 
> **I haven’t got  
>  one of those.**
> 
> **Sure u do.**
> 
> **I’m eating lunch  
>  with him.**
> 
> **Ur boyfriend.**
> 
> **The 1 u love**
> 
> **Why are you like  
>  this?**
> 
> **Ur boyfriend  
>  seems to like it**
> 
> **I’m done talking  
>  to you.**
> 
> **R U coming or  
>  not?**
> 
> **I don’t like you  
>  right now.**
> 
> **U love me.**
> 
> **That doesn’t mean  
>  I like you.**
> 
> **U like Bea**
> 
> **True.  
>  Fine.**
> 
> **What about  
>  Crowley?**
> 
> **That’s up to him.  
>  Ur boyfriend  
> that u love**
> 
> **I miss the satisfaction  
>  of hanging up on you.**

“Sorry about that,” Gabriel laughed as he put his phone back in his pocket.

“Everything all right?” Crowley asked.

“Yeah, that was your boyfriend. He—”

“Stop that.”

“Well, okay, then, mister _whatever it is_. Anyway, as I was saying before the man you call _Angel_ , yet _isn’t_ your boyfriend, texted me,” Gabriel continued, arching an eyebrow with a smug grin, “Bea’s going, and has explicitly informed me she’ll need someone to hang out with while Aziraphale and I are busy.”

“Why is she going, then? Sounds like she doesn’t _want_ to go.”

Gabriel shrugged. “I went to _her_ thing. We all did.”

“What, in Tadfield? The paintball thing? You were the only one of us who _liked_ that. You had the time of your life while the rest of us were miserable and covered in paint.”

Gabriel waved his hand dismissively, puffing his cheeks out slightly and shaking his head as he exhaled. “Still counts.”

Crowley looked at him skeptically.

“Bea said it counts!” Gabriel said, his eyes wide. “She _did_.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes and sucked his teeth. “You might want to check with Aziraphale first. Not really up to me.”

“Yeah, I figured you would say that. That’s the same thing he said about you when I asked him about it earlier.” Gabriel flashed a Cheshire grin at Crowley and switched their plates around. “Which I’m taking to mean that you both _want_ to go, but you’re too stubborn and stupid to recognize you both want the _other_ there.” Gabriel bit into a chip, chewing with his mouth open as he spoke. “Guess that means you _are_ going.”

“You know what?” Crowley began, stabbing his fork into a balsamic tomato, “Next time you and I go to lunch like this, I’m ordering a tweed kettle.”

“I can’t eat fish.”

Crowley grinned maniacally. “I _know_.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes with a grin, picking up his cheeseburger to take a bite.

****

After lunch, Gabriel and Crowley stopped off at Gabriel’s tailor.

Gabriel stepped out from behind the curtain to look in the mirror. The suit was almost a metallic silver, shining in the light as he turned. Arms wide, he twirled around to view it from behind before looking back over towards Crowley.

“What do you think?” Gabriel asked.

Wide-eyed, Crowley hissed out a whisper. “You paid money for that?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Seriously, how do I look?”

“Like a giant purple-eyed potato, wrapped and ready to take home. Shall I ring Bea ahead to ensure there’s enough butter, or did you want to stop off for some along the way home?”

Gabriel scoffed. “You just don’t understand how good this look is.”

“I agree. I absolutely do not understand. I can scarcely believe it.”

While Gabriel changed back into his original clothes, Crowley looked around the shop. There were a number of things he thought Aziraphale might like. He saw an old snuff box in particular that he thought might be perfect for Gabriel’s purposes. He was just about to ask the clerk to bring it out of the case when something off to the side caught his eye.

“Can I see that?” Crowley said, pointing towards the ring inside the glass case.

The clerk handed it to Crowley, who held it cautiously in his hand. It was a band of black rhodium, etched with platinum feathers on either side of a round gold bezel-set diamond. Reverently, Crowley slid it onto his thumb, where it fit perfectly.

_Is this a sign?_ Crowley wondered, just in time for the sun to come out from behind the clouds, making the shop brighter inside.

“I’ll take it,” Crowley whispered.

“But you haven’t even seen the price yet,” the clerk balked.

“I don’t care,” he said, pulling out his wallet to hand the clerk a black card. “Whatever the price, I’ll pay it. Just hurry. I don’t want my friend to know.”

Once the ring and the receipt were safely tucked inside the secret compartment of Crowley’s wallet, he asked the clerk to bring out the snuff box.

“Whatcha got there?” Gabriel asked as he walked up holding a garment bag.

Crowley jumped, startled by the approach. “I have found the perfect gift for you to give Aziraphale,” he said, hoping Gabriel wouldn’t notice the trembling of his hand as he brushed it against his jacket to feel the wallet beneath.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Gabriel said, inspecting the snuffbox. “Is this sterling silver?”

“It is,” the clerk said. “And the embellishments are 24 karat gold.”

“How much is it?”

“As this is only a replica, it’s £75.”

Gabriel nodded. “That’s not bad at all. He’s usually more interested in actual antiques, though.”

“We also offer engraving services if you’d like,” the clerk said. “You wouldn’t want to do that to an antique, of course.”

“True,” Gabriel said, considering as he looked it over. “All right, you’ve sold me. I’ll take it,” he said, putting the box down to bring out his wallet. “How much is the engraving?”

“It’s included. What would you like it to say?”

"His initials are A. Z. F,” Gabriel said.

"What, does that like, stand for something?" The clerk smiled as he wrote it down.

"Yeah. His _name_." Crowley looked between the sales clerk and Gabriel with befuddled amazement. Gabriel shrugged, raising his hands in amusement.

Purchases completed, one of the employees brought a rack of garments out of the back to put on display. One of the items in particular caught Gabriel’s eye.

“Oh, I…” He was near speechless. “Are you in a rush?” Gabriel asked Crowley.

“What?” Crowley asked, not paying attention.

“If you aren’t in a rush, would you mind terribly if I tried on that suit?”

Crowley shrugged. “Nah. Actually, I, uh, d’you mind if I step out for a bit while you do that? I just want to pop over across the street. I’ll be back.”

“Yeah, sure. Not a problem.”  
“Right. Great,” Crowley said, reaching out to take Gabriel’s bags. “I’ll go on and put these in the car on my way through.”

As Crowley stepped out of the shop, he tried his level best not to fall apart with the realization of what he had just done. He put the parcels in the Bentley, then walked across the way towards a group of people on what appeared to be a cigarette break.

“Could I buy a couple of cigarettes off of one of you lot?” Crowley asked.

“Mate you all right?” One of them asked as he tapped two cigarettes out of his pack to hand them over. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

“I’ll be all right once I calm down a bit,” Crowley admitted, reaching into his pocket to pull out a few quid.

“Nah,” the man said, shaking his head and holding his hand up. “You look like you need one of these more than I do.” He offered Crowley a light.

Crowley leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and letting the sensation wash over him. He could feel himself relaxing, but only just barely. He’d have to change clothes, shower, and brush his teeth before he met up with Aziraphale later.

_Aziraphale_.

“I bought a ring,” Crowley said aloud.

“Ooh,” a chorus of voices sounded simultaneously.

“That explains it, then,” the man who gave him cigarettes grinned. “Congratulations.”

“Aye, don’t congratulate him yet,” another person said, grinning. “Ye ain’t even asked if he got an answer.” She turned to Crowley. “Did ye ask yet?”

“I…” Crowley took a deep drag off of his cigarette. “I don’t even know if I can ask him. I didn’t plan to buy the ring at all. But it was there, and it… It was absolutely beautiful, and so _him_.”

“Aww, love, I hope it works out for the two of you,” she said, patting him on the shoulder.

Crowley let out a deep breath as he pushed off of the wall, stubbing out what was left of the cigarette. “Me, too.”

Aziraphale and Gabriel had been asked to attend an event in Canterbury on the 23rd of December. Rather than spend most of their holiday driving, they decided to rent a cottage and spend Christmas in Canterbury. They took separate cars, with Aziraphale and Gabriel communicating between the two to ensure they stayed together whenever stops needed to be made. Arriving at their destination, they immediately went to the check-in to get their keys.

Bea, who had been subject to most of this conversation on the drive already, listened with avid disinterest as Gabriel continued his diatribe.

“And I was _trying_ to be chill and eat my burger because he tried to be all _it was a joke_ ,” Gabriel said with exasperation to Aziraphale.

“Your _burger_?” Bea asked with an arch of her eyebrow.

“ _I_ had a seared Portobello steak with sprouts, mixed greens, and balsamic tomatoes,” Crowley grinned wickedly at Gabriel while standing behind Bea.

“That’s what _you_ should have ordered,” Bea said, pursing up her lips while jabbing a knuckle into her husband’s arm.

“But I d—” Gabriel stopped himself mid-word, just in time to not finish his thought and reveal his hand. “I hate you so much,” he mouthed silently to Crowley when Bea walked over to the check-in desk.

Crowley’s grin only widened. “ _Checkmate_ ,” he mouthed back.

As it turned out, their itinerary was off by an hour, and there was no time for lunch before a car was sent for Aziraphale and Gabriel. Bea and Crowley stayed behind to unload their bags and presents, placing them beneath the Christmas tree that had been set up in the cottage per their request.

After the presents had been placed, they began to bring in their luggage. The strap of one of Bea’s bags got caught on the door handle, causing her to stumble and drop it. Upon impact, everything spilled out into the floor. Crowley stopped to help her pick everything up, including the pill bottle that rolled over to his feet.

“Estrogen?” Crowley said, picking up the bottle. His eyebrows raised as he handed it back to her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have read that.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “I don’t mind if you know.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, relaxing. “I didn’t mean to sound so surprised,” he explained. “Don’t see a lot of that in someone so young, I thought. Admittedly, though, I don’t really know much about menopause.”

“What? Oh, no, I’m not…Well, for one, I’m not _that_ young, but no, I’m not going through menopause,” she smiled softly at him. “I’ve been taking hormone therapy for a little over twenty-five years now.”

It took a moment for the wheels to turn in Crowley’s head. “Oh, _oh_ , okay.”

“Yeah.” She said, tilting her head as she looked down at the pill bottle in her hand. “This might be as good a time as any to have that discussion I mentioned in Tadfield,” she said. “But it’s a conversation I’d rather have with a drink. Come on, we’ll get the rest of the bags later. I saw a pub around the corner.”

“All right,” Crowley agreed. “But don’t let me spoil my appetite. Aziraphale is looking forward to dinner tonight. If I had realized he wouldn’t have gotten to have lunch, I would have suggested we hit a drive through along the way.”

“Right, definitely,” Bea agreed. “Let me take a moment to put these in the room and freshen up a bit, then we’ll head out.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

A few minutes later, Bea came out of her room.

“Ready to go?" Bea asked, sending a text to Gabriel to let him know that they were going out.

“Very nearly,” Crowley said, patting his head and pockets down frantically. “I need to pick up another pair of sunglasses first. I seem to have misplaced mine.”

“We’re going to a pub, not the beach.”

“I have special eyes,” Crowley said with a laugh.

“Fair enough,” Bea laughed. “I’m certain there’s a gift shop near here. We’ll stop in there first.”

Temporary replacement sunglasses obtained, along with a few silly little stocking stuffers, Bea and Crowley made their way to the pub, finding a dark, secluded booth towards the rear.

“Back when I first started, I took injectable hormones,” Bea explained. “Gabe, he, um… He gave me most of my injections. He was due to go back to the states not long after I planned to start my transition. He knew I was never very good with needles, but I also smoked back then, and there were increased risks with the pills. I needed to quit regardless before I had surgery, but he saw I was having a lot of trouble quitting, back then,” she said. “I told him he didn’t have to, but he decided he would quit smoking, too, that we could do that together, so I didn’t have to go through it alone.”

“Like the weird Tyrannosaurus ravioli thing,” Crowley said with affectionate amusement.

Her eyes flicked up towards Crowley with a grin. “Yeah, something like that.”

Bea looked back down, biting her lip slightly. “He _says_ he decided to stay in the UK because he fell in love with the _area_ , but…” Bea blushed, letting out a serene sigh.

“But he stayed for you,” Crowley said.

She nodded. “The original plan we made after our first two years together was that he was going to go back to the states after Uni, and I was going to apply for citizenship and follow him later, after getting everything done here. I had cut ties with most of my family when I came out, and _his_ family was surprisingly much more accepting of us. His mum told me she didn’t care if he brought her another son or a daughter as long as we were _happy_. She had even already lined up work for me whenever I got there.” Bea reached up to wipe the tiny bit of moisture that had developed in one of her eyes. “Incredible people, his parents,” she said.

“So I’ve heard,” Crowley said, gently.

“Anyway, it would have likely taken awhile for everything to have worked out for that, regardless,” Bea continued. “A couple of years, at least, either way, between my surgery and getting my citizenship sorted.”

“But he decided to stay, and help you transition.”

She sniffed, reaching for a tissue from within her bag. “Yeah. He, uh, he didn’t tell me until after it was approved and he had a job here that he had already looked for employers with a tier-2 program license. He did that so when his student Visa expired, he could apply for a work Visa to stay.” She took a shaky, but deep breath. “Which meant he couldn’t go home for very long without endangering that. That bloody bastard didn’t tell me because he _knew_ I’d try to talk him out of it. He was _supposed_ to take over and expand his family’s business, but ended up staying here renting and selling eBooks online, along with the occasional collectible. He gave up _everything_ in his great life plan for _me_ , Crowley.”

“That’s really, it’s really incredible what the two of you have,” Crowley said wistfully.

Bea looked up at him with all the severity and gravitas she possessed, as well as a good measure siphoned from the rest of the world. “When you _have_ something like that, it’s precious and rare. You do _whatever_ you can to preserve it. You _protect_ it, and nurture it, and make certain _nothing_ stands in the way. You keep it safe and secure. Do you understand?”

Crowley nodded, shifting to sit more upright.

“Do you think you’d recognize it if it were right in front of you, all gift-wrapped and tied off with a bow?”

Crowley looked at her with wide eyes. Surely, she couldn’t mean—

“Because I’m not entirely convinced that you would. However, it’s not my place to say, so I won’t press the matter. But I _do_ hope you’ll think about what I’ve _already_ said.”

Crowley _would_ think about it. As usual, he would think entirely _too much_ about it. In fact, he had already begun to do so as he stretched out across the booth seat.

He needed to lie down for this.

Bea’s phone buzzed.

“It’s them,” she said. “They’re done with their thing. Do we want to meet them somewhere, or just have them come h—” Bea glared at the empty space across the table. “Will you sit up?”

“I’m _comfortable_ ,” Crowley said from beneath the table. “Have them come here.”

Bea rolled her eyes, not that Crowley could see from his vantage point, and texted back.

“Gabe said they should be here in a quarter hour.”

“Great,” Crowley said. _That gives me a quarter hour to stop panicking and calm down enough to figure this all out_ , he thought as he reached to touch the wallet in his pocket. Though he had only had it for a few days, he had already begun to wear down the leather of his old wallet with as many times as he had tried to feel the ring inside of it.

Crowley was sitting upright by the time Gabriel and Aziraphale arrived. He scooted over, gesturing to the seat beside him.

“Actually, I need to excuse myself for a moment,” Aziraphale said as Gabriel sat down next to Bea. “Order for me? You know what I like,” he said, turning to find the restroom.

“I bet you _do_ ,” Gabriel said with a grin as Bea not-so-gently kicked him under the table.

Crowley sneered at Gabriel and shook his head side to side, but there was no malice to it.

When their food came, the waiter placed salads in front of both Crowley and Gabriel. Out of habit, they each reached over to swap their dressings, paying no mind to the tense look on Aziraphale’s face or the tetchy look on Bea’s.

After a moment of silence, they both looked up.

“What?” Crowley asked.

Gabriel looked down at his plate and back up at Bea. “Oh, _son of a bitch_ ,” he said under his breath.

It was at that moment that Crowley’s face fell as he recognized, suddenly, _why_ both Bea and Aziraphale were so quiet.

“How long as this been going on between the two of you?” Bea asked calmly.

“We, uh, well,” Crowley stammered.

“Not long,” Gabriel said, scrunching his nose up and shaking his head with a shrug. Both he and Crowley pushed their plates forward.

“Really?” Bea said, shoving the plates back towards them. “Because you both seemed pretty comfortable doing it without even having to ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, the next chapter is going to be rough, but don’t worry. This story has a happy ending.
> 
> ALSO....  
>  _ **The Suit.**_


End file.
